Surface Appearances
by stranded chess piece
Summary: An exorcism goes wrong and Sam is left with serious doubts as to who he really is and whether he can be trusted. S3. AU. Limp Sam.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, firstly I want to apologize to anyone who's been reading this, hopefully you wont find this too annoying! At first I wanted to write short chapters, but then it just seemed to work better with longer ones, so I've changed the layout a bit so that it flows more evenly. Nothing else has changed :) It's still very much a work in progress, set early S3 so spoilers for first 3-4 eps, and AU. Ta for reading x_

_Disclaimer: I still don't own them._

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

Dean's knuckles tingled and burned as he stared at the demon. Every bit of him wanted to smash its expression through its face and out the other side. Sam's words faltered as he read the exorcism from one of Bobby's old books, fingers trembling as they pinched the yellowed pages, eyes darting to meet Dean's for a moment. Dean caught the uncertainty there.

"Keep reading Sammy," the older ordered, glaring at the creature.

Sam continued, trying to keep his voice steady.

The creature spat and hissed, thrashing about in its bonds. Its soulless eyes met Dean's and its face cracked into a sick smile. Abruptly it laughed. "You're a joke, Dean Winchester. They say you're fine stuff but I see through you. You're nothing. There will be many in Hell looking forward to ripping you apart."

From beside him, Dean felt rather than saw his brother stiffen. Sam's words suddenly took a razor edge as the younger hurled them at the demon. Dean took his whisky bottle and tossed a measure of holy water into the thing's lap. Flesh and clothing sizzled, pungent smoke rising as it thrashed about, the legs of the old wooden chair it was tied to wobbling precariously. Looking at it now, Dean found it impossible to believe there could still be an innocent man trapped in there. A string of blood-stained saliva fell across its torn shirt.

They'd come across the creature thanks to a lead from Ellen. They'd traveled to the small town and had found evidence of demon activity, tracking down this one in particular and intercepting it as it had left a bar. They'd brought it to this unused building and Dean had all but thrown it into a chair while Sam pleaded with him to be careful as the man it was possessing could still be alive. But Dean wasn't up for bothering with such niceties, and had set about tying its bonds as tight as they would go, before upending a bottle of holy water over its head.

Things had been difficult lately. Hell, their whole lives had been difficult, but the last couple of months in particular had been a real nightmare. They'd been chasing every lead they'd been given from either Bobby or Ellen, covering more ground than they ever had yet getting nowhere. Demons were multiplying like fucking rabbits, and every second job was a freakin' exorcism- which was doing wonders for Dean's mental health, as every one of them seemed to take great pleasure in taunting him about his impending doom. He'd become a machine, not wanting to stop because stopping meant having to face the consequences of the deal he'd made to save Sam's life, which, he was sure beyond a doubt, he did _not _regret. He just hated seeing Sam coming apart in the process. The younger was, inarguably, exhausted and distressed about the whole thing. But Dean couldn't talk to him about it, because talking meant risking coming apart himself, and that was something he was desperate to avoid.

"How does it feel, _Sammy_," the demon gargled through blood-stained teeth, "knowing that your brother's going to Hell because of you?"

Out of reflex, Dean took a step towards his sibling. Sam, to his credit, didn't stop reading, but his fingers did shake a little more noticeably as he clutched the book.

"And Daddy, whose trip down under was also thanks to you, as well as your mother, and your girlfriend-"

Dean couldn't help himself. He was on the creature in an instant, its shirt bunched in his white-knuckled fists as he all but hauled it from the chair. It choked and wheezed, erupting in a fit of coughing as blood sprayed from its mouth and out over Dean's shoes and the floor. It obviously had internal injuries of some description. Dean realized that it was highly unlikely the man who'd previously owned the body would survive the ordeal, which was possibly for the best, he decided, poor bastard.

He glared down into the inky eyes and leaned in close. "You piece of shit," he growled, his voice a vicious snarl that cut through the air and made him wonder at the fact that it had come from his own throat. His fingers dug into its flesh as he gripped it around the neck. "You and your kind are the reason behind what's happened to our family over the years, don't you _dare _blame my brother for your actions." His grip tightened, blocking off its airway.

Sam's words were faltering, but he didn't dare stop reading. Dean suddenly released his hold on the creature and it gasped and heaved in its bonds. Jerkily it attempted to kick at the older brother's legs, leaning forward and gnashing its teeth. Dean couldn't look at it anymore, and turned instead to lock eyes with Sam who was a shade paler than he had been a moment ago, with beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. Dean nodded once, and Sam nodded back.

"Adios amigo," Dean muttered under his breath, throwing his words back at the demon thrashing about behind him.

Sam took a deep breath and began reading the final part of the exorcism.

Neither of them expected what happened next.

The door suddenly exploded inward, and Sam was thrown five feet through the air to smash against a wall and crumple in a heap upon the concrete floor. Despite Dean's lightening-quick reflexes, he was unable to react fast enough, and in a similar fashion was hurled backwards, smacking his head on the corner of a table not too far from where Sam lay.

The last thing Dean's mind processed as his vision swam and he battled to stay conscious was a figure untying the demon they had strapped in the chair, and another rushing towards Sam at terrifying speed.

The last thought that passed through his mind as he lost his grip on reality was a sickeningly panicked one, as he realized he couldn't get to his brother in time.

And then everything went frightfully black.

* * *

Sam came to with a start, jolting so violently he jarred his back. It took his brain a moment to register that he was sprawled ungracefully upon a very hard, very cold concrete floor with his shoulder wedged against a wall. For a heartbeat he couldn't remember how to breathe. Everything hurt and he had to repeatedly blink his eyes to clear his vision. His ears were ringing. It panicked him that he couldn't hear properly. It panicked him that he couldn't co-ordinate his muscles to be able to call his brother's name. His conscience screamed at him to pull himself together, but the task seemed so distressingly difficult and his body wasn't responding the way he wanted it to. Scrambling as best he could, he managed to turn himself over. A man he'd never seen before was running at him, arms outstretched, fire in his eyes.

There was no time. Sam did the only thing he could think to do; he dived to the right and rolled out of the way. But the demon was fast, and Sam's head was spinning. It followed his moves and made grabs for his ankles as he back-peddled across the floor, frantically searching for a weapon of some description. His stomach clenched in a sickening knot as he caught sight of Dean's crumpled form a few feet away; the older man's back pressed against the leg of a table, blood streaming from his forehead. Futilely he called to his brother, hoping for a response. But Dean remained unmoving, and the demon's bony fingers snagged Sam's left ankle and jerked him sharp and hard across the concrete.

Sam's fist flew up. His knuckles connected with a crack against the possessed man's jaw. The demon fell back, giving Sam the chance to pull himself upright. Swaying to his feet, he spun around wildly, attempting to survey the room and assess the situation. The demon they'd tied to the chair was now free and moving towards his brother, while another appeared to be dousing the room in kerosene. Sam went to hurl himself at the demon making a move towards Dean, but was caught violently around the middle and tackled to the floor. He landed face-first, his teeth smashing together so hard he tasted blood.

Sam hadn't wanted to take this job. Hell, there'd hardly been a job in the past month or so that he'd felt like pursuing. His and Dean's lives had gone from bad to fucking dreadful over a very short space of time, and Sam honestly didn't know how much more he could take. His brother was dying, and Sam didn't seem to be able to do anything about it. Dean didn't want his help, didn't want to let Sam even attempt to fix things or undo the deal he'd made. It ripped Sam apart in every imaginable way to know that his brother, his _blood_, would choose to walk away instead of trusting him with the task of finding an answer. They weren't machines. They weren't meant to switch their emotions off and pretend everything was okay. Sam hated the trench that had sunk between them. It was dark, empty, and frightening, and it was growing at a terrifying speed.

With as much strength as he could muster, Sam jerked his elbow behind him hoping to catch the demon in the head, but the creature's strength had Sam pinned at an awkward angle and movement was near impossible. It grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back so that he had a clear view of Dean and the demon they'd first captured holding the broken leg of the chair like a bat above Dean's head.

"Now you get to watch your brother die," the demon pinning him hissed.

Sam felt his heart pounding against his ribcage as panic rose in a wave of nausea and bile. He tried again to call Dean's name, but his voice was broken and desperate, making him sound like a frightened child. The demon with the kerosene finished dousing the room and tossed the can aside with a hungry burst of laughter. His eyes glowed as he watched Sam struggle against the much larger man who held him down.

"I know it's ahead of schedule, but there's no harm in killing him now." The demon with the chair leg let his lip curl into a sickening smile, his eyes meeting Sam's. "Don't worry Sammy, you'll be following him soon enough. Then you can have a nice little family reunion, with Mummy and Daddy and Jessica. Make sure you pass on my regards, wont you. I find it highly amusing that out of the five of you, you were the only one who was ever meant to end up down there. But then, I think you've probably worked that out already. Am I right?"

Sam wasn't able to process what it was saying. His eyes were fixed on its weapon and on Dean's expressionless face. He was willing Dean's eyes to open, for his sibling to wake and take out this evil son of a bitch with enough ferocity to send its sorry ass screaming back to Hell. Dean could do that. He'd seen his brother do that so many times. Sometimes it had scared him, but he knew that if Dean awoke, he wouldn't be scared today. God, he wanted his brother to open his freakin' eyes. Dean needed to open his eyes _right now_.

Something snapped within Sam. Perhaps it was the very real prospect of seeing his brother beaten to death in a completely humiliating way and then being killed by the same wretched creatures in what would quite likely be a similar manner. He jerked and kicked as hard as he could, managing to whip his left hand free and latch onto the big man's jacket. As hard as he could, he pulled the man towards the ground. His actions didn't have their desired effect, exactly, but the weight on his back was released enough to allow him to twist around and stab the man as hard as he could in the throat with his finger tips. The man's right hand came up to protect his windpipe, and Sam took the opportunity to get a boot into his gut.

A strange thing happened then, and Sam's thoughts were sent reeling. The big man's throat opened up and light poured out while his eyes rolled back in his head as his body fell to the floor. Sam was spun around and pushed in the direction of his brother.

"Get him out of here," Ruby ordered.

Sam gaped at her, having to stop his fist as it flew at her face.

The demon with the chair leg was lunging towards them. Ruby turned to meet it with her knife and Sam noticed that the demon with the kerosene was lying in a pool of blood across the room, unmoving. Sam's eyes flicked from Ruby to his brother, mind trying desperately to process what was going on. Ruby's blade missed the demon and it grabbed her and threw her across the room. Sam picked up his feet and hurled himself towards Dean, realizing that now was not the time to be asking _how_ or _why_.

Dean wouldn't wake up. Sam tapped at his cheek hoping for a flutter of eyelids but was rewarded with nothing. There was no time to try again to rouse the older hunter as the demon sets its sights on the boys and Sam saw it out of the corner of his eye, hurtling across the room, chair leg in hand. Ruby was pulling herself to her feet, looking pissed. Sam didn't pay her much mind as he threw himself at the approaching creature, desperate to keep it away from his injured brother. The thing hissed as Sam clocked it across the jaw, its eyes blacker than night and its teeth still stained with crimson. It stepped back from Sam's punches and pulled a lighter from its pocket. With a considerable amount of alarm Sam recalled the kerosene that had been splashed around the room, and realized what this one was about to do.

Whether Ruby noticed the lighter or not, Sam couldn't be sure. He dived at the creature at the same time as she charged, knife wielded. The demon reacted with speed, pulling Sam to stand between itself and Ruby. Luckily her reflexes were quick and she curved her aim, missing Sam's heart and wedging the blade into the thing's neck instead. Sam felt time stop for a splinter of a breath as the demon's grip on him released and the lighter dropped. It fell to the floor and Sam dived out of the way. With blinding intensity, the room they were standing in filled with fire.

Sam barely noticed Ruby as he threw himself to the floor beside his brother. The air was burning and smoke rapidly accumulated and rushed into his lungs, stinging his throat and eyes. Without another thought he scooped Dean up and threw his sibling over his shoulder. It was difficult to see the door through the haze but he ran at the space where he thought it stood anyway. Within seconds he was stumbling into the corridor, the smell of burning flesh assaulting his nose and making him gag. He couldn't breathe, and he felt like he was on fire. Adrenalin charged his limbs as he flew down two flights of stairs, bursting from the building and stumbling across a gravel car park.

Only when he'd reached the Impala did Sam stop. Lowering Dean to the ground he spun around and looked back the way they'd come. Ruby was approaching, jogging towards them and sending a brief glance over her shoulder at the flames licking the sky through the blown out window of the room they'd been in. Sam bent down to check Dean's pulse, his shoulder burning from his sibling's weight and his hands beginning to shake as his eyes met Ruby's. Anger flared within him, and he was on his feet, stepping towards her.

She went to speak but he cut her off. "Get away from me! Keep away from my brother!"

Her hands came up in a gesture of peace but Sam was wary of the darkness in her eyes.

"And don't give me any of that crap about saving my life, I don't _need_ you, and I sure as hell don't _trust_ you. Stay _back_!" He'd positioned himself between her and Dean.

Again she opened her mouth to say something but again Sam cut her off. "I don't know why you're here. I should kill you. Don't even think about saying you want to help me." His shoulder continued to burn and absently he rubbed at it. A glance at his hand revealed a small amount of blood, but nothing to grow concerned about.

Ruby narrowed her eyes and a splinter of an emotion that Sam couldn't quite read rippled over her features.

Sam leaned down and pulled the car keys from Dean's jacket pocket. Ruby took a step towards him, her movement causing him to spring up and extend a hand to keep her back. "I said _stay away_!"

"You're shoulder-" she started.

"-Is none of your concern! _Back off._"

Again her eyes narrowed. Sam stepped back and felt his way along the car door as he searched for the lock, not wanting to let her out of his sight. He shoved the key in and opened the front passenger door, reaching into the back and clearing the seat, scooping up an old shirt off the floor and rolling it to make a bandage for Dean's head. She continued to stare at him, making him uncomfortable. He fumbled with the bandage and clenched his fists as he stood again, not wanting her to see he was shaking.

"Sam, listen to me-"

This time his hand flew forward and latched on to a fistful of her jacket. He snarled as he drew her close. "No. You listen to me." His breathing was uneven and his eyes were still stinging from the smoke. "I'm getting my brother out of here, right now, and you're not going to follow me. You will not contact me. I am _not_ having a conversation with you. Do you understand me?"

He pushed her away, but she didn't stumble. As gently as he could he lifted Dean from the ground and laid him across the back seat, using his jacket as a cushion. Sam noticed a dark patch of blood around his own shoulder, sticking his shirt to his skin. Irritably he pressed his hand against the burning and clenched his teeth as he scooted across the front seat to position himself behind the wheel. Ruby's eyes never left him, and he started the engine and glared back at her.

Sam put the car in gear, and in a shower of loose gravel sent them flying from the car park.

He drove as fast and as furiously as he could, desperate to put ground between them and what had just happened. His mind was reeling and he couldn't concentrate on decoding the mess that was running through his brain. There was blood on his fingertips, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel. All he could think about was the fact that Dean wasn't waking up. And that a demon had articulated one of his worst fears.

He'd always worried that he really did belong in Hell.

* * *

Dean was dreaming. He was nine years old, wandering around a normal, suburban shopping center with Sam. Sam was his responsibility, his job for the day. Sam was… there one second and gone the next.

Swinging his gaze from left to right, Dean desperately sought his brother. The crowds were thick, and the people passing him by nudged him with their shoulders, their faces expressionless and unsympathetic. He called Sam's name, willing his voice to carry through the sea of people. He had to find his little brother. He had to make sure Sam was okay before time ran out. Dean couldn't explain the sense of urgency swelling within him. He just knew that it was imperative he locate his sibling. The clock was ticking, and soon the shopping center doors would close. There would be no more chances. Again he called out, but again there was no sign of Sam.

Suddenly Bobby appeared before him, his face set in an expression that was halfway between disappointment and sadness. The older hunter shook his head, his eyes locking with Dean's.

Dean wanted to appeal to Bobby for help, but there was something in the man's eyes that held him back.

"Bobby-" Dean started uncertainly.

But Bobby's face turned away.

The crowds grew thicker and filled the space between them until Dean could no longer see his friend.

A whisper kissed his ear.

"Like father," it said morosely. "Like son."

Dean's eyes pulled open and he gasped, arms flying about, right knuckles making contact with cold glass and sound flooding his ears. He was on his back, in a car. He was in _his_ car. Where was Sam? His eyes wouldn't focus. He couldn't sit up straight. There was pain in his head and blood on his tongue.

"Sammy-?" His voice was barely audible. He struggled to get his bearings as the car roared along an uneven road. He managed to curl his fingers over the top of the front seat and pull himself halfway upright. Oh God_-_ Where was Sam? He couldn't see his brother. He needed to know where his brother was. He had to find Sam. He couldn't remember what had happened. He couldn't remember getting in the car. He didn't know how he'd hurt his head.

"Sam-" His vision focused on the hunched figure in the driver's seat and he realized Sam was clinging to the wheel, hurling them through the black night at frightening speed. In the rearview mirror Dean caught a splinter of his brother's expression; brow furrowed to form a deep crevice down the centre of his forehead, eyes narrowed and set like stone. Something was wrong. Something had happened. A particularly rough patch of road sent cracking pain through Dean's skull, forcing him to squeeze his eyes closed. He almost fell back upon the seat but managed to hold on. "Sam-" he said again, a little louder this time. "Sam, what's going on?"

No reply.

The road became incredibly bumpy and Dean's fingers slipped, causing him to fall. He felt cold vinyl against his cheek and the familiarity of Sam's jacket bunched behind him. He wanted desperately to pull it out and cushion his aching head, but he couldn't co-ordinate his limbs and his eyes were dropping closed. "Sam-" he tried again, but his voice was a mere whisper.

Ruthlessly he was pulled back into the confusing mess of disjointed dreams.

The next time he woke properly, Sam was hauling him from the car. Sunrise was staining the horizon and they appeared to be in a dodgy looking motel car park. Sam wrapped an arm around his waist and supported him as they made their way towards one of the rooms. Had they been driving all night? Sam was telling him everything was fine, that there was no need to worry and that they both simply needed a decent night's sleep. But Dean could see through his sibling's lies, and there were dark circles around Sam's eyes that screamed of exhaustion. Dean couldn't help but notice his brother wince as they crossed the room to one of the beds. As Sam lowered him to the mattress, he all but demanded, "Are you hurt?"

But Sam just leaned over and arranged the pillows behind Dean's head, fumbling with the comforter and ordering his brother to lie back while he went to retrieve the first aid kit and their bags from the trunk.

Dean caught his wrist when he returned with the first aid kit.

"I'm _fine_," Sam insisted, pulling away and reaching to undo the blood-soaked shirt from Dean's forehead. "Just sit still. I'll be quick."

Again Dean asked what had happened.

Again Sam avoided giving a full explanation.

Dean felt a weight like a great rock forming in his stomach. He didn't like not being in control. He didn't like having such great gaps in his memory. He didn't like that his brother was looking after him, instead of the other way around. And he didn't like the look in Sam's eyes, because it made him think that there was probably more to the story, and that there was something going on.

Sam popped the pain killers and ordered Dean to swallow some. Dean knew that it was safe to sleep, and that Sam would no doubt check on him at regular intervals during the night to be sure he hadn't slipped into a coma, but a little voice was screaming at him to stay awake.

"You sure you're okay?" He once again questioned his brother, though he knew full well what Sam's answer would be.

Sam barely turned as he crossed the room, first aid kit in hand. "Get some sleep, Dean," he replied in a strained voice, walking into the bathroom and placing the kit beside the sink.

Dean caught the twitch of a smile Sam threw in his direction before closing the door.

Big brother knew that twitch. It had flickered over Sam's features countless times since they were kids. It was Sam's way of saying that he didn't want to talk. Unfortunately, it also confirmed what Dean had feared, as it had always been Sam's way of trying to hide the fact that something was wrong.

Dean opened his mouth to call after his brother. But sleep came and claimed him before he had the chance.

* * *

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Sam was aware that something wasn't right. Despite his exhaustion, he'd barely slept a wink since they'd stumbled through the door to their motel room, and that was early yesterday morning. Now it was ten o'clock the following morning and Dean was a lot more coherent, stubbornly refusing to stay in bed and telling Sam they should try to hunt down some food, because he was starving.

"I really don't think you should be going anywhere," Sam had attempted to argue. "I can go get something, and come back."

But his big brother was already halfway out of bed by this point, probing his bandaged forehead. "There's only so much sleep one person can take, Sammy."

Sam lay back against his pillows, squeezing his eyes shut as dizziness overwhelmed him for a moment.

Thankfully Dean was too busy navigating his way towards the bathroom to notice. "Freakin' stomach's about to eat me alive."

Sam felt nauseas. He groaned and rolled over, hastily biting his lip as the shift in body weight put pressure on his shoulder. A sharp pain lanced through his back and down through his chest, bringing tears to his eyes. When he'd checked his injury just after they'd arrived he'd pulled off his shirt expecting to see a great gash but was instead faced with a small cut the length of his little finger. He'd almost laughed as he'd cleaned it and had smeared it with antiseptic, feeling like an idiot for being such a pansy and worrying that there'd been gaping hole in his shoulder. He'd then attempted to get some rest, but less than two hours later was stumbling back towards the bathroom, convinced his shoulder was on fire.

His harmless little cut had puffed up dramatically, turning pink around the edges and bruising hideously across his shoulder. He'd tried bathing it and holding ice against it to take out the heat, but nothing had worked. If there wasn't such a neat slit in his skin he would have assumed he'd been burned, despite the fact that no burn he'd acquired during his lifetime had ever looked like this. _What the hell?_ He'd wracked his brain for an explanation but had so far been unsuccessful. It _hurt_. It hurt more than it should have.

Dean's face appeared in the bathroom doorway. Sam blinked at his brother through gummy eyes.

"You sure you're alright?" Dean's gaze had settled upon him and was growing more focused with every minute that ticked by. "You look pasty. Tell me you've eaten since we got here."

Sam was in no mood for an interrogation and waved his brother's concern away. "I had something small," he lied. "I'm not that hungry."

"Like hell. You look transparent."

Sam attempted to glare but it gave him a headache. "You don't look that fantastic yourself, you know."

Dean leaned over and scooped a clean shirt out of Sam's bag, tossing it over to his sibling. "Up, Sammy. Before I make you get up."

_Oh God just leave me the hell alone_- Sam brushed the shirt from where it had landed across his chest.

Dean shuffled to the window and peered through the smoke-stained curtains. "The diner's literally just across the car park, quit being so lazy."

Sam wondered why he'd even bothered being concerned about Dean's head injury. His brother obviously wasn't human and didn't seem to require the rest and healing time most normal people needed. He groaned and stifled a wince as he sat up.

Dean's eyes swiveled to settle on his stiff movements, narrowing suspiciously.

Sam dived in before his brother could open his mouth. "For God's sake, I'm _fine_. I'm just tired. Quit staring at me like that."

Dean's hands came up in self defense, but his eyes never left his little brother.

Sam's feet settled upon the floor and he took a deep breath, praying that he'd be able to stand without swaying too badly.

Dean grabbed his phone from the bedside table and shoved it into his pocket. "We need to call Bobby, let him know what happened."

Sam wobbled upright, moving towards the bathroom where he could change in private.

"Which means we need to talk, Sammy."

Sam paused in the doorway, feeling Dean's eyes on his back but not turning around. He knew they needed to talk, even though he didn't want to. He didn't want to think about anything that had happened the other night. There was a part of him that was glad his shoulder was giving him grief because it meant that he wasn't thinking about demons or the fact that Ruby had turned up and had contributed greatly to saving their lives. He swallowed roughly, placing a hand against the door frame for support.

"You need to tell me exactly what went down, and how the hell you managed to get us out of there."

Sam nodded slowly.

"Don't get me wrong," Dean said gently. "I'm grateful."

Sam bit his lip, waiting for the inevitable _"But…"_

"But I need to know what happened because, seriously, the last thing I remember was you in a heap on the floor and two other crazies running into the room and untying our demon. My brain's telling me something doesn't make sense. I know you have to understand where I'm coming from, because if it was the other way round, you'd be asking too."

Sam waited a moment before releasing the door frame and moving further into the bathroom. Yes, he would be asking too. No, nothing was making sense. His head spun faster, but this time it was due to all the troubled thoughts that were fighting for space in his brain. He wanted to talk to Dean, but at the same time he was frightened to. He didn't like thinking that he was hiding something from his brother, but there were certain things he didn't feel comfortable mentioning. Like the demon's comments about him belonging in Hell, or Ruby appearing out of the blue again. It reminded Sam that there were other things that had happened before now that he hadn't discussed with Dean either. Like the dream old Yellow Eyes had shown him, where he'd had front row seats to the events that had taken place in his nursery the night their mother had died. Dean didn't know that Sam had been fed demon's blood. What would that do to their relationship if Sam was to mention it? Sam had noticed his brother staring at him on occasion and hadn't been able to help but wonder whether Dean was suspicious of his little brother's true origins. _He has every right to wonder_, Sam thought sadly. As much as it distressed him, if he were Dean, he'd probably wonder too.

"Sam?"

Sam broke off his thoughts, desperate to shake them from his mind. "Just let me get changed." He began to close the door. "I'll be out in a sec."

When the door was fully closed he leaned against one of the walls and slid down until he was sitting on the cold tiles. His shoulder throbbed like a bass drum, and there was sweat on his brow. What the hell was he supposed to tell Dean? As much as it pained him, Sam realized he was going to have to lie.

* * *

Dean shoveled another fork-full of fried egg into his mouth. Just the smell of the diner alone was enough to make Sam want to hurl. He'd barely touched his own breakfast, opting instead to poke and prod it around his plate, trying not to notice the grease stains each piece was leaving behind. His coffee was going cold in his cup, a thin layer of grime beginning to form on top. The place wasn't full, but it wasn't empty either. There were about four other occupied tables, and every now and then someone would cast an uncertain look their way.

"What can I say, I'm an attractive man." Dean winked at an elderly lady who'd made the mistake of staring too long.

Sam watched her hastily drop her eyes, the man she was with unaware of their brief interaction.

Dean cleared his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd removed the bandage from his forehead and there was a purple gash just under his hairline above his right brow. It looked beyond painful, and every now and then Sam noticed a slight crack in his brother's game face; a wince here, a slight hitch in his breath there. Sam didn't believe for one second that Dean was as okay as he said he was, despite his sibling's obvious determination to appear right as rain.

"I need you to run that by me again, Sam."

Sam pushed a chunk of buttered toast a little too hard and it toppled off his plate.

Dean frowned at the amount of food still sitting in front of his brother. "It's meant to go in your mouth, genius."

Sam flipped it back onto his mound of breakfast and dropped his fork on top with a muffled splat. "I'm not hungry."

Dean's stare intensified, but he bit back any related comment. Instead he continued, his tone slightly more terse, "You woke up in time to fight off the man I saw charging you, before taking the other two out and hauling my ass outta there. Pretty lucky break if you ask me, seeing as I'm willing to bet neither of the other two was just your average Joe."

Sam's mouth went dry, but he forced himself to meet his brother's gaze. "I told you, it all happened so fast. I saw you were unconscious and I freaked out. I don't know, maybe we did get lucky, but somehow I got us out and back to the car. Call it adrenalin or whatever you like, but I got us away from there, and we're here to see another day, right?"

"My clothes smell of smoke, Sam."

"Ah, yeah, that's because there was a bit of a fire."

"Where did the fire come from?"

Sam's head was hurting and he was beginning to feel dizzy again. "One of the guys had some kerosene, and he lit it. I don't know where the hell he got it from. I just grabbed you and ran."

"I thought you said you took them all out?"

Sam's fist thumped the table, sending droplets of coffee across their plates. "Will you _stop_ with the fucking questions already? I've _told_ you everything that happened. Can we please just leave it alone? It turned nasty, okay, but we got out with all our limbs and we're alright. What more do you want me to say?" He was gasping. "Nothing else happened."

Dean nodded calmly, indicating Sam take a deep breath. "Okay, alright, I'm not accusing you of holding out on me, take it easy. I'm just trying to piece things together so I don't get my ear chewed off by Bobby. Were the other two guys who came in possessed?"

Sam was trembling and his stomach was beginning to clench rather sickeningly. "I… think so."

"So, we've got three demons on the loose, and they could be anywhere by now."

Sam went to reply, but his increasing need to vomit kept him from opening his mouth.

His sudden shift in demeanour didn't escape his brother's keen senses and Dean furrowed his brow. "Sam? You okay?"

Sam had to get to a bathroom. Hurriedly he pushed himself up from his seat. "Back in a sec," he mumbled, already beginning to cross the room, right hand slung across his stomach and trying not to collide with any tables.

He heard his brother call something, but he managed a reassuring wave. He didn't want Dean following him. He located the men's restroom and all but threw himself through the door, disappearing inside the first of three cubicles and heaving into the stained, porcelain bowl until tears streaked his cheeks.

A moment passed.

When Sam was sure his stomach was done turning itself inside out he gingerly retreated from the cubicle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was shaking all over and his back and neck ached from the effort of being sick. He approached the sink and fumbled with the tap until cold water rushed over his hands and he could cup it and splash it over his face. His burning shoulder was a distant pain in relation to his other grievances, but it still made its presence known, burning continuously. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed his head to stop spinning. A voice from behind him made him jump.

If he wasn't feeling so awful, Sam would have punched Ruby. As it happened, he could barely muster enough strength to spit out a sentence. "This is a _men's _restroom. The last time I checked-"

"-Oh keep your pants on, Sam, I'm not here for an argument." She let her eyes wander over his features, probably noticing the way he leaned against the sink for support.

"What part of 'stay the hell away from me' didn't you understand…?"

She stepped closer.

He stepped clear of the sink and moved across the room, uncomfortable that she was blocking the door. "Let me guess, you've come to offer to help me again, out of the goodness of your heart."

She opened her mouth.

He quickly cut her off. "Oh, wait, that's right, you're a _demon_. I forgot, you don't have a heart."

Her eyes went cold and she bit her lip. "As hard as it is for you to believe, _Sammy_, my intentions aren't all that bad. I don't want to see you get yourself killed, nor do I particularly want to see your brother go to Hell. I have reason to believe you were injured the other night, which worries me greatly. I simply wish to make sure you're okay."

Without intending to, Sam brought his right hand to rest protectively against the wound on his left shoulder.

"Let me see your shoulder." She inched closer.

Sam stumbled as he inched further back. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm fine, and my brother's fine too. If I was you- and thank God I'm not- I'd get the hell out of here before I decide to remove you permanently."

An almost-laugh escaped her lips. "You keep threatening to do that."

Sam winced as his back hit the wall.

"You shouldn't make empty threats, Sam."

"They're not empty sweetheart."

In less than a heartbeat Sam's fist had flown up and he'd positioned himself to deliver a good blow to her stomach with his left boot.

Unfortunately she was faster, and swatted his arm away as if it were an annoying insect, clamping her fingers around his wrist and throwing him back against the wall before he'd even had the chance to move his leg to kick her.

Her breath was hot on his cheek. "For the last time, you moron, I'm here to _help_ you." Her eyes were black.

"Fore the last time, _bitch_, I'm not interested in your help." He spat in her face.

Their eyes locked and there was anger flaring behind both their stares.

They wrestled for a moment before Sam felt his shirt pulled off his shoulder. Looking down he realized she'd managed to expose his cut and was staring at it with an unidentifiable expression splashed across her features.

"Shit," she hissed.

He pushed against her grip. "Get off me-"

Her grip tightened.

"It's just a scratch-"

"It's _not_ just a scratch, Sam."

Something in her tone silenced him. She released her hold and ran her fingers through her hair.

He was shaking and the dizziness had returned.

She paced for a moment before drawing her knife. The blade caught the light. She studied it intensely before tucking it away again. "On anybody else, it would just be a scratch."

Sam felt his throat go dry. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Her eyes locked with his.

He repeated his question. "What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?"

A sound from the door stole Sam's attention and his head snapped around.

Dean entered, holding his phone and looking concerned.

Sam's eyes flew from his brother to where Ruby had been standing, but she was nowhere to be found.

Dean stared at his sibling. "I was getting worried. Bobby called, said he heard about a fire and wanted to make sure we were okay. I told him what happened, and he told us to head east. He's heading to Atlanta and can meet us in there in three days. Sam..?"

Sam had turned his back on his brother and was leaning over the sink, chin resting on his chest while he tried to control his breathing.

"You alright?" Dean stepped closer.

There was barely concealed fear in the older hunter's voice that reminded Sam of the first time he'd told Dean about his visions.

He wasn't ready to tell Dean about this yet. "I'm fine." He straightened and squeezed a smile. "I'm just feeling a bit under the weather."

"I told you, you need to eat more."

The thought made Sam's stomach curl in on itself. "No, I- I'm good. I think I just need more sleep."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You right to travel?"

_No_. "Do I have a choice?"

"I'll drive."

"You can't drive, you jerk. You have a head injury."

"Since when has that stopped either of us getting behind the wheel?"

"Since…" Sam couldn't think of a decent response. He didn't want to get back on the road, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to come up with a good enough reason to stay here another night.

"Let's go grab our things then." Dean almost sounded enthused. "Bobby seems to think something big's happening in Atlanta. Says he's gonna need our help."

_Great_, Sam thought, _more demons_. _That's fantastic_.

As they exited the restroom Sam paused in the doorway and looked back.

_On anybody else, it would just be a scratch_. Ruby's words echoed in his ears. His shoulder hadn't ceased burning and his grip was clammy on the door handle as he chewed on his thoughts.

_Screw her_, he decided. She was probably just trying to mess with his head. He wasn't her puppet. He wouldn't entertain her by worrying. There was nothing to prove the cut was from her knife- he could have acquired it anywhere. It was simply a scratch that had become infected. He'd treat it and it'd be fine. He'd dealt with worse injuries before.

He stepped into the dining room and let the door swing closed behind him. His steps were far from steady, but he followed his brother through the foul-smelling eatery and out into the crisp late morning air.

Dean threw him an over-the-shoulder glance as they made their way towards their room. "I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone before I walked into that bathroom."

Sam furrowed his brow, feigning confusion.

Dean pulled their room key from his pocket. "Thought I heard you yelling."

Sam's brow creased further. He shook his head. "I wasn't talking to anyone," he lied.

Dean unlocked the door. "That's good," he said. "I'm glad to hear. Because, being a mean's restroom and all, you know I would have had to ask you some pretty awkward questions." A grin crept across his face.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously dude, you're sick."

* * *

Dean was no fool. It was obvious there was something going on with Sam and he planned to find out what, exactly, that something was. He wasn't blind to his little brother's sickly pallor, and he hadn't failed to notice the redness rimming the younger man's eyes. When Sam spoke, there was an edge to his tone, and it made Dean uneasy. The older hunter wanted no more than to shake his sibling and demand to know what was eating him.

Unfortunately, years of dealing with Sam in similar situations had taught him to tread carefully. Sam wouldn't talk if he didn't want to, and there was nothing Dean could do but sit back and wait patiently for that time to arrive. It was funny, really, because when the time did come and Sam finally opened up, Dean would hate it just as much because Sam would often become emotional. And that would mean Dean having to attempt to string together sentences and pry the cap off his own, often indecipherable, emotions, which was something he'd never been overly good at.

Beyond a doubt, he loved his brother. But God, sometimes he wished the kid had been born with an instruction manual. At least that way he'd be a lot easier to work out.

They'd packed their stuff into the car and had hit the road. Sam had barely argued when Dean had grabbed the keys and had slipped into the driver's seat. Dean had glanced worriedly at his brother, slouched in the passenger seat with beads of sweat glistening across his brow. Sam's hands had been shaking but he'd hastily shoved them into his coat pockets, folding his arms over his stomach and turning so that his head was resting against the seat, eyes directed out the window.

"You try get some sleep," Dean had said, mainly just to break the silence.

Sam had grunted but had offered nothing else by way of reply, seeming to fold further in on himself.

Dean had pretended not to notice how scrunched up and uncomfortable his brother looked, removing a tape from the deck and slipping in another as he twisted down the volume.

Now, as they sped along a featureless stretch of road, Dean resolved to talk with Sam before they met up with Bobby. Sam had been up and down lately, fragile and slightly manic, and it was very possible that his current state was a result of the difficulties he was having dealing with their less than perfect situation. Dean wasn't stupid. He could see what the deal he'd made was doing to his brother. He knew there was nothing he could say to change things or make them better, but he needed to make sure Sam was okay before they went up against any more demons. He recalled some of the things the last demon they'd dealt with had said as they were trying to exorcise it; lies about Sam being responsible for the deaths of their parents and Jessica. Sam knew as well as he did that demons took great pleasure in messing with people's minds, cleverly twisting information into a weapon and using it to their advantage. But the way Sam had been acting lately, Dean couldn't be sure that his sibling hadn't taken it to heart. He'd never dream of blaming Sam for what had happened to their family, but that didn't stop Sam from blaming himself.

Rubbing aching eyes, Dean attempted to blink away some of the mess in his head. He was looking forward to meeting up with Bobby. Their old friend was like a second father to them, and Dean trusted that when his year was up, Bobby would continue to look out for Sam. It made it easier to leave, knowing that his brother would be well looked after. The older man had a way with Sam that Dean approved of, and, perhaps between them, they might be able to get Sam to eat more and look after himself a bit better.

_I'm sick of seeing you like this_, Dean thought as he glanced at the hunched figure sleeping at an uncomfortable angle in the passenger seat. _Always run down, always boxed up. It's got to stop_.

There had been shadows around Sam's eyes for weeks, but now they'd become startlingly bruised and his cheeks were pale and gaunt.

_This isn't you_. _This isn't who you're supposed to be._

A memory jumped to the front of Dean's mind, frightening in its clarity. He was standing in a graveyard, old Yellow Eyes' rancid breath burning his cheek as the demon attempted to plant a seed of doubt, suggesting that what Dean had brought back wasn't truly his brother and that somehow Sam had changed when he'd been returned from… wherever it was he'd gone to when he'd died. The skin on Dean's arms prickled now even as it had done then. He didn't regret putting a bullet between that monster's eyes. He _knew_ his brother better than anyone or anything, and there was nothing on earth that would ever make him doubt who Sam was. His sibling wasn't possessed. His sibling wasn't any different than he'd ever been. The man sitting next to him was _Sam_, through and through, just a little more troubled and a little less innocent than he used to be.

They'd been driving for almost four hours now. It would probably take them close to twelve if they wanted to do it all in one go. Dean knew it would be wise to stop for the night but he was anxious to get to Atlanta and have a look around before Bobby got there.

"If you get there before I do, make sure you check yourselves into a motel somewhere and lay low til we're all together."

But telling Dean to wait was like telling a kid not to rattle their presents before Christmas. If Bobby had got word that there was some major demon activity in that city, Dean wanted to check it out as soon as possible in order to know what they were up against. Kicking demon ass was the one thing that was keeping him strong in the face of his impending doom. It was the one thing he _could_ do, and with the exception of their last job, it was the one thing he felt he was actually good at. Every demon he managed to send back to Hell between now and his final breath was one less demon Sam and Bobby would have to worry about after he was gone. And that, in itself, was enough to make him feel like he was doing his bit.

The road was long, and the afternoon sun glared through the patchy clouds. The last lot of painkillers Dean had taken was wearing off but he was reluctant to take any more in case they made him drowsy. His head was splitting but he continued to grit his teeth and swallow the discomfort. Sam had done a good job of patching him up, as always, but it was the sort of injury that would take a few days to heal and Dean just didn't have the patience to sit on his ass waiting for something like that. There was work to be done, and far too little time to do it. He'd live, and that was all that was required for now. In truth he was more concerned with his brother's physical state than he was with his own.

As if on cue Sam groaned and twisted around to stare at his brother, sleepy eyes pulling open and blinking groggily. "You sure you're good to drive?"

Dean almost laughed. "Seeing as I've been doing it quite successfully for over four hours now, I'd say that yes, I'm alright. But thanks for asking."

Sam looked confused and pulled out his phone to check the clock. "Oh," he said quietly.

Dean watched him reposition himself, awkwardly attempting to stretch out his long legs and leaning his head back against the seat once more.

Sam's eyes drooped closed.

Dean figured they'd keep going for another couple of hours or so, and then they'd stop somewhere for food.

Sam mumbled something, but over the sound of the engine it was difficult to hear.

"Eh?" Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother who was scrunching himself into a ball.

"I said why don't you put the heat on, it's like an ice box in here."

Dean's eyes narrowed further. It wasn't cold. If anything, the interior of the car was stuffy.

Sam's eyes cracked open and he leaned forward, fiddling with the dials and vents until there was warm air blowing over them.

Dean didn't say anything.

He knew that if he questioned Sam, the younger would just lie and continue to say that he was fine.

_That's it_, Dean thought. _We're stopping for food the first chance we get. And he _will_ eat something, even if I have to force it down his throat_.

* * *

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Raw terror gripped Sam. It sunk its icy claws into his mind and flung him forth from the land of sleep. He woke gasping, shoulder burning and fire spreading through his chest and down into his stomach. Even before his eyes had focused he knew something was wrong. Frantically he scrubbed a hand over his face, desperately trying to clear his vision.

He was in the car. The car was moving. But they were veering across the wrong side of the road and Dean was asleep at the wheel.

The next five seconds seemed to pass in slow motion for Sam. He may have cried out, he couldn't be sure, but within a heartbeat he was practically sitting on top of his brother, trying to gain control of the vehicle as it came off the asphalt and skidded along the gravel shoulder, narrowly missing trees and fence posts and a ditch at least four feet deep. Dean came to in a mess of arms and legs, scrambling under the weight of his brother. But despite his cursing and swearing, Sam refused to loosen his grip on the wheel.

Eventually the older hunter's foot found the brake pedal, and they were brought to a screaming halt just as the front wheels hit a bank of grass, flinging Sam forwards into the dash.

There was silence as the dust settled and both brothers caught their breath.

"Sammy?"

Sam was on the floor, still trying to work out which way was up. His heart was pounding so hard against his ribs that it hurt. He got one of his arms to co-operate and gingerly pushed himself upright, climbing back onto the seat.

Dean's shaky hand found his shoulder. "Sam-?"

Sam was _not_ happy.

Anger welled within him and rose like the waters of a flash flood. "What the _fuck_, Dean?!" He threw a vicious glare at his brother, eyes piercing right into the depths of the other man's shocked stare.

Dean ran hand through his hair and sucked in a jagged breath, eyes skidding away from Sam and out through the front windshield.

Sam clawed his way to his door and pushed it open, toppling out of the car and landing in a heap upon the stiff grass. The late afternoon sun was streaking in golden rays across a silver lake, picking up the ripples on the water but doing nothing to drive the chill from the air as night came on. He lay back, panting and pushing his palms against his eyes as pain throbbed through his head. Distantly he heard Dean's door creak open and his brother's footsteps hurrying around the front of the car to where Sam lay on the ground. Sam's arms and legs were tingling as his adrenalin charged muscles began to relax.

As Dean knelt beside him with a thump of knees against grass, Sam pulled his hands away from his eyes and swayed into a sitting position.

Dean's mouth opened, but Sam barged in first.

"We're stopping at the next town. We're stopping for the night and we're not going any further."

"I was looking out for a town, but we didn't pass through any!"

"We didn't pass through any, or you didn't _see_ any?"

"We didn't pass _through_ any."

"How the hell do you know, you were sleeping!"

"I…" Dean appeared confused, rubbing his head and then pinching the bridge of his nose. "I swear I was fine." He shook his head, frustrated. "I don't know what the hell happened, Sam. I'm sorry. One second I was thinking about where we should stop to eat, and then the next…"

"You nearly drove us into a _lake_!"

Dean returned his brother's cold glare, narrowing his eyes.

But Sam had a fire within him and felt like stoking it rather than putting it out. He was strangely keen to have an argument, reluctant to let the matter slide. He pulled himself to his feet, towering over his brother as Dean stood up as well. "I should never have let you drive. Your head's not right but you're too stubborn to admit it. Bobby's not meeting us for _three_ days so there's absolutely no reason to rush. We're finding a place to stay, and we're damn well staying there until you're better. Now give me the keys."

Dean had taken the keys out of the ignition when they'd stopped and was clutching them in his hand.

Sam waited, but his sibling made no move to hand them over. "I said _give_ me the _keys_, Dean."

Again Dean fixed him with a stare that clearly spoke of his indignation.

Sam returned the expression, stepping closer.

Eventually Dean saw reason and held the keys out for Sam to take, never letting his eyes stray from his brother, who snatched them and stormed around the front of the car to the driver's side door.

Sam threw himself into the seat, casting an angry look across the surface of the lake as Dean cursed and slipped into the passenger's seat beside him.

Neither brother said a word. As far as Sam was concerned, there was no more to say. He put the car into reverse and spun them around so that they were facing the road again. The engine sounded a little rough, but it was nothing to be concerned about. They'd got lucky.

_God_, Sam thought furiously. _If I hadn't woken up when I did, we would be dead right now._

Dean was deathly quiet as they pulled back onto the smooth asphalt.

Sam bit his tongue, refusing to comment as he noticed his brother's normally steady hands were trembling.

* * *

The next town happened to be less than a mile away. Sam skidded into the car park of the first motel they came across and stomped on the brakes just outside the reception. Dean had remained silent, but now he swore under his breath at Sam's rough handling of his sweetheart. 

Sam, for his part, was seething, yet completely unable to explain the frustration boiling within him. "Stay here," he spat at his brother.

Dean raised an unimpressed eyebrow in response but made no move to follow the younger man into the building.

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and went to book them a room. He felt entirely fed up and just damn tired of everything. He snatched the key from the lady behind the desk and returned to where his brother waited in the car, slumped in the passenger seat with a hand over his eyes. Dean looked exhausted, fingers gently curling to massage his temples. Sam drove them around the back of the reception to a door displaying a gold plate with the number 12, and parked ungracefully out the front.

He swung his legs out of the car and stalked to the trunk to retrieve their belongings. "I need a drink."

Dean was not far behind. "You need to eat, Sam. That's what you need."

Any other time, Sam would have let the comment go. Not today. "_You_ are in _no_ position to tell me what to do. _God_, you never stop. Sam, do this, Sam, do that-"

Dean was gaping at him.

"Well I'm not listening!" He slung his bag over his shoulder.

Dean made no move to get his bag. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

Sam held up an accusatory finger, shaking it in his brother's face. "_You_. I'm sick of _you_, Dean. I've _had_ _enough_."

It was funny, the expression that flashed across the older hunter's face. Sam almost laughed. Dean looked slightly taken aback. It was satisfying.

"Is this about me falling asleep?"

Sam wasn't listening. He'd already started towards the door.

Dean caught up with him and made the mistake of attempting to spin him around by grabbing his injured shoulder.

Sam hissed, drawing back, his good arm shooting out to hold his brother at a distance.

"Sam?" Now Dean was staring at him, concern mixed with uncertainty. "Look, it's been a long day and we're both tired. You're right. I probably shouldn't have been driving, but-"

Sam turned his back, unlocked the door and strode into the room, flicking the lights on as he went.

"Hey!" Dean's voice was angry now, coming closer as he also entered the room. "I'm trying to talk to you here, establish what I've done to piss you off so badly that you're refusing to accept my apology. And I _am_ apologizing, Sam. I'm _sorry_."

Sam threw his bag onto one of the mattresses and spun to face his brother. He was _so_ angry. He wasn't even feeling sick anymore, just shaky and completely on edge. He needed some space. He needed some space _now_. He began to walk out of the room.

Dean rushed to stop him; another mistake.

Sam's good hand flew out, pushing his sibling against a wall. The force was enough to bring a framed painting down with a crash and they both stood there, staring at it before locking eyes.

"I need a drink," Sam stated. "I'm going to the bar."

Dean composed himself, straightening his jacket and saying nothing, though it was obvious he was shaken by his little brother's sudden burst of physical aggression.

"I don't want you to come with me." Sam started walking.

Now Dean's expression wavered between pain and confusion. HH e made no attempt to hide it.

A wave of vertigo washed over the younger man and he stopped abruptly, clutching at the doorway.

"Sammy-"

"_Don't_ touch me." Sam sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back out into the car park. "I'm going to the bar." He continued walking. "I swear, if you follow me…"

If Dean followed him, Sam felt like he'd knock his brother's teeth out. The anger just kept rising. He had to get away. Deep down he knew it was wrong but there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was painful, but at the same time it felt so good. It was like there was an actual fire burning within him.

Dean shouted something from the doorway, but Sam chose to ignore him.

_God_, the youngest Winchester thought bitterly. _He's such a pain in the ass._

* * *

Dean closed his eyes, and then blinked them a couple of times.

_What the fuck?_

His hands were shaking and he had a headache that was threatening to split his mind in two. All he could do was stare after Sam as his brother's tall figure stalked across the road to a bar with a dodgy neon sign. He couldn't even begin to attempt to work out what, exactly, had happened to lead them to this moment. He was still reeling from the thought of falling asleep and nearly taking them for a swim- in the freakin' car.

He took a step forward, ready to go after Sam. But something in his brother's tone had scared him and he wondered whether it wouldn't be better to leave the kid alone for a moment. Perhaps he should sit down and munch some pain killers, take some deep breaths and calm the hell down. At least then he'd be able to deal with Sam in a reasonable manner. At the moment, he was wavering between completely freaking out, and crossing the road to kick his brother's ass.

_Kicking his ass wont help_, he realized soberly, recalling the look he'd glimpsed in Sam's eyes. _He'd only kick back_.

He pulled out his phone and took note of the time. It was nearing six o'clock. If Sam wasn't back by seven, he resolved to go and find him.

_And if he so much as tries to throw me into another wall..._

Dean gingerly rubbed his aching back.

What the hell had gotten into his brother?

He narrowed his eyes at the bar, watching the door Sam had disappeared through.

One hour.

One hour and he would head over there, and Sam had better have a damn good explanation for himself.

* * *

Sam took a very deep breath and counted to ten. The stool he was sitting on was wobbly and uncomfortable. He'd been perched at the bar for a grand total of twenty minutes and had just drained his first drink. Barely melted ice blocks clinked against one another as he set it down on the sticky countertop and ran a hand over his face. His anger was beginning to subside, but in its place, the nausea and dizziness he'd experienced earlier was returning. He had no idea what had caused him to explode at his brother. He wasn't quite ready to feel bad about it just yet.

To his left, the bar curved around. An old, bearded man sat at the counter's end, stooped over his glass. Every now and then he'd lift his eyes and glance at the young hunter. Sam twitched a polite smile, but offered nothing more. The rest of the bar was as empty as his glass, which wasn't all that surprising. It was barely scraping six o'clock and they were in the middle of nowhere.

"You look like you could use another drink."

There was a young guy behind the bar, probably about the same age as Sam. He wiped his hands on a tea towel before removing the empty glass from the counter and scooping new ice into another.

Sam nodded appreciatively.

A shot of this, a bit of that; Sam watched the ice cubes bob drunkenly as the glass was set before him.

"Hard day?" the guy asked casually.

Sam almost laughed. It was a genuine enough question, but he couldn't help but wonder how many _hard day's _this guy saw week in, week out. He set his lips on the cold rim of the glass and took a sip. The liquid burned his throat. As he replaced it on the counter, he nodded. Most days over these past few weeks had been 'hard'. "Family dramas," he admitted, and again scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "My big brother's being a pain in the ass."

A knowing expression passed across the young man's face. He leaned against the counter. "Yeah they seem to specialize in that, don't they?"

Sam cocked a brow. "You have an older brother too?"

The guy nodded. "Drives me crazy sometimes, always telling me what to do, trying to control my life."

Sam ran a finger around the wet rim of his glass. "Mine treats me as if I'm five."

The guy laughed. "God, I hear you on that one. Mine's completely stuck in the past. It's like he doesn't realize I'm an adult and can make my own decisions."

A weary smile cracked Sam's features. He took another sip of his drink, holding a block of ice in his mouth for a moment before smashing it with his teeth. He replaced his glass and extended a hand. "I'm Sam."

The bar guy glanced at Sam's hand and then shook it. "Matt."

From the corner of the bar, the old man lifted his eyes to watch them, before returning his gaze to his drink.

Matt noticed the movement and shook his head, lowering his voice. "That there's the town crazy. He comes in every afternoon, same time, without fail, and sits in that very spot. Makes me nervous as hell. He can't hardly see, you know. Walks all the way from his creepy little cottage by the lake. Apparently he used to be married, and normal, too. Went strange after his wife died. If you ask me, by the looks of him, I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one who killed her."

Sam shifted his eyes from Matt and glanced again at the hunched figure. "He lives out by the lake?"

Matt nodded, but said nothing more.

"My brother nearly drove us into that lake just a moment ago." The words were tumbling over Sam's lips before he could stop them. "He was driving and he fell asleep. I told him this morning that I didn't think he was okay to drive, but he didn't listen. He's convinced he always knows what's best even when it's obvious he's wrong. He could have killed us. God, he would have if I hadn't woken up in time."

Matt raised his eyebrows, his expression indicating that he was searching for a response.

The old man sat up straighter and stared at Sam.

For the first time, it dawned on Sam that it _was_ actually strange that he'd woken up in time.

"You got lucky."

Matt flinched as the old man spoke.

Sam turned in the direction of the gravely voice and was met by steely blue eyes.

"There've been a heap of accidents on that road," the stranger continued in a tone that made Sam's hairs stand on end. "All of 'em on that bend as you approach the lake. Not many without fatalities. Some say it's cursed."

Sam swallowed thickly.

The man nodded. "You're the first I've heard who's survived."

An awkward silence descended and Sam shifted in his seat.

Matt cleared his throat. "Yeah, well. It's a dangerous stretch."

The stranger took another sip of his drink, but said no more.

Sam eyed his own glass, suddenly light-headed. He squeezed his eyes closed as the dizziness passed and felt his stomach turn. His shoulder was beginning to throb again and he was quickly losing the heart for getting drunk. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, because he'd been angry and the alcohol had made him feel good. But now his old exhaustion was returning and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball.

"Hey." Matt leaned forward, possibly noticing the change in the young hunter's mood. "Don't listen to him."

Sam rubbed his brow. His forehead was tingling. He shook his head and slowly stood up, feeling his drink in his knees. _I'm such a light-weight_, he thought miserably.

The old man remained silent and unmoving.

"I should go," Sam mumbled, knowing that he didn't need to justify himself but feeling like he should explain anyway. "It's a miracle my brother hasn't burst in here and torn me apart. Usually he would have shredded me for having a go at him the way I did."

Matt nodded understandingly. "You staying across the road?"

"Yeah. We travel in style."

The barman cracked a slight grin. "Well, good luck then, with your brother and all."

Sam took a deep breath and attempted to mask the nausea he was feeling. "Yeah, thanks. You too." He threw one last glance towards the old man.

The man didn't move.

Sam's mind was chewing over their conversation. He wandered towards the door.

"Later," Matt said.

Sam nodded half-heartedly, and walked out.

* * *

Dean had paced for a good ten minutes once he'd entered the room. He would have paced longer, only his headache had grown worse by the second and his legs had kept threatening to fold. Annoyed beyond belief, with Sam and with his own physical state, he'd grabbed the half empty packet of painkillers out of their first aid kit and had collapsed into the room's only chair, heaving a groan as the motion had jarred his brain and sent splintering pain through his skull. He hadn't even bothered with water, chewing two pills and swallowing them despite their bitterness. He'd leaned his head back and had closed his eyes.

Without even intending to, he'd drifted off to sleep.

Now the click of the opening door shattered the silence that had surrounded him. Cold evening air spilled in from outside and Sam gingerly entered, glancing behind him before turning to blink at his brother who was slumped in the chair, snoring gently.

The younger man frowned, eyes falling to settle upon his sibling's chest; a nasty habit they'd both developed quite recently.

Dean's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Sam's features relaxed in a silent sigh of relief. _He's only sleeping_.

Closing the door and latching it, Sam made his way over to his brother. The packet of drugs had fallen from Dean's lap and onto the floor, and Sam reached down and retrieved it, popping two pills from their casings and curling them into his hand. Dean's eyelids fluttered, but apart from that the older didn't stir. Sam stood watching his brother, a strangely sad expression drifting over his features as he chewed his lip. As quietly as possible, he moved to one of the beds and gathered up a blanket. In a gesture that was more an apology than anything else, he draped it over his sibling's lap. Then he wandered across the room and disappeared inside the bathroom.

The bathroom was small and the fluorescent light reflected badly off the stained tiles. Sam closed the door and turned, staring at himself in the mirror with a troubled expression gracing his features. He rubbed his head, as if trying to banish bad thoughts. His eyes flicked around the room, as though he was expecting someone to appear, but nobody came. He uncurled his palm and popped the pills into his mouth. Twisting the tap, he leaned over and washed them down in one go, straightening and drying his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sam was tired, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. There was a restlessness within him that tumbled his thoughts over one another, adding to his discomfort. The events that had just taken place in the bar across the road were fresh in his memory, and behind them, there were hoards of other nonsensical thoughts that fought for space in his brain; his outburst towards Dean, their brush with death on the road, his two most recent meetings with Ruby… None of the questions these thoughts lead to had answers. He pulled his shirt off his shoulder, stifling a wince, and inspected his cut. It was still puffy and bruised, and burning like hell. _Burning like Hell_, he thought absently. Quickly he shook his head.

He needed time. He needed time to get on top of all this. _Dean_ needed time; the older man was equally as unwell. But Dean wouldn't listen. Dean was set on going to Atlanta. The only way they'd get to stay would be if they found a job.

_'There's been a heap of accidents on that road… Some say it's cursed_._'_

Sam held onto the old man's words, turning them over.

If he could find enough evidence to back up the idea that there was something going on here, there might be a chance Dean would agree to stick around.

He peered through the doorway towards his sleeping brother, and decided that it was worth a shot.

* * *

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

_Okay so hopefully nobody's decided to hate me since I totally rearranged the structure of this story... Thanks so much for everyone who's been leaving reviews, they mean so much- as a lot of you probably know :) Here's chapter four, or chapter seven, depending on how confused you are. Have a good weekend!_

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

****

****

Dean got a fright when he woke up. Not only was he sitting in a chair instead of laying in his bed, there was light peeping through the cracks in the blinds, which meant he'd been in the same position for the entire duration of the night, which, he noted as he glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, had been a good fourteen hours.

_What the hell?_

He blinked rapidly, rubbing sleep from his eyes and pulling himself further upright. The blanket that had been covering him slipped off his shoulders and gathered in his lap. He glanced at it, confused as to how it had got there. Then he remembered he'd been waiting for his brother to return from the bar. The events of the day before came back to him in a delightful rush and he cringed, feeling them stick and settle in his mind. He'd messed up, and Sam had been angry. He still couldn't decide what rattled him more; the fact he'd messed up so badly, or the fury that he'd witnessed blazing within Sam's eyes.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing. A scan of the room revealed the bathroom door was closed, and he could hear the sound of the shower running so at least Sam _had_ actually come back. He brought his fingers to his forehead and gently probed the healing wound beneath his hairline. He couldn't get over the fact that he'd fallen asleep, and that he'd slept for so damned long. His eyes fell upon the packet of painkillers and he sighed, leaning back in the chair again. Damn drugs, they got him every time.

A loud clang in the pipes indicated Sam had turned the water off. Dean sat very still, his ears tuning in to the sound of birds and the odd car on the road outside. He was worried about Sam. He was worried for them both. Their relationship was so obviously fraying and he wasn't entirely sure what to do to fix it. That made him scared, and fear was something that had never reacted well with him. It often manifested into anger.

He let his eyes settle on the bathroom door. Suddenly the door opened and Sam emerged, wearing a loose-fitting pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, his hair stringy and wet and sticking to his forehead. Dean lifted his gaze to fall upon his brother's pale face, noticing the pink blotches across the younger man's cheeks and the sunken look to his eyes.

Sam's steps faltered as he noticed Dean was awake and staring so intently. His throat worked and his expression shifted from exhaustion to nervousness.

Dean took a deep breath, gathering his emotions and ignoring the remnants of his desire to punch his brother that had settled within him the evening before when Sam had been acting all crazy.

Sam shifted his weight, clearing his throat to speak.

Dean got there first. "So," he said, in a tone that held a little more weight than he'd intended. "You seemed about ready to rip my limbs from my body last night. Should I prepare myself for round two, or might you consider having a conversation?"

Sam lowered his eyes guiltily.

Dean felt his heart-strings pang at the sight of his oversized little brother looking so small, but he continued anyway. "You want to tell me what the hell was wrong with you, because I was about ready to grab the holy water."

Sam's expression twitched. "You wouldn't have done that."

Dean laughed nervously. "Actually yeah, Sam, I would have. You were just slightly scary."

Sam seemed to consider this a moment before crossing the room to his bag.

Dean watched as his brother removed a small flask and unscrewed the cap, holding his arm out with his palm towards the ceiling and splashing the contents of the bottle over his wrist.

Nothing happened. Dean hadn't expected it to, though he felt relieved, nevertheless. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said gently, struggling with the words even though he meant them. "I'm sorry about what happened yesterday… Are we good?"

Sam deposited himself on the edge of his bed, nodding slowly. "I'm sorry too."

Dean noticed the way he sat with his arm across his stomach and the stiffness that laced his movements. "You still feeling unwell?"

Sam squeezed a smile. "I'm okay."

"Don't lie to me, it doesn't suit you."

Sam met his big brother's eyes but said nothing.

"Right," Dean filled in. "You had one too many cocktails at the bar last night and are paying the price for your poor decisions. Please tell me at least one hot chick tried to hit on you. That way we can look back on the evening and not feel like it was a total disaster. "

That got half a laugh out of the boy. Sam shook his head. "No, no hot chicks." He paused, and then added, "But I did find something."

Dean raised a curious brow. "A hot guy?"

He ducked as a pillow flew by his ear at frightening speed. "Hey! Watch the head injury."

Sam glared.

A grin split Dean's features. Yep, that there was the Sam he knew and loved, and had missed.

Sam rolled his eyes and stood up, moving around the side of the bed. He bent down and grabbed his laptop and a wad of notes that had been scattered across the floor beside it. "I think I found us a job, right here in this town."

Dean leaned forward, tracking his brother as Sam returned to the bed and opened the laptop, resting it on his knees.

"I don't think our little accident yesterday was an accident at all," the younger explained. "There've been a ton of deaths on that road, at exactly the same place, and all around this time of year. In fact, they've been within a day or two of yesterdays date." Sam paused, looking up from the screen. "Each vehicle came off the road and went into the lake. There've been no other near-misses, Dean. From what I've managed to gather, we're the only ones who've ever survived. There've been _twelve_ deaths over the past sixteen years."

_And we only survived because you acted so quickly_, Dean thought reluctantly, not wanting to dwell on the memory. He sucked in a breath, finding the information a little startling. If what Sam was telling him was true, he wouldn't have to feel so bad about the whole thing, but at the same time, they'd be opening up a whole new can of worms.

Sam tapped at the keys of his computer, biting his lip. Dean eyed the pile of notes stacked haphazardly beside his brother. Had Sam been up all night looking into this? He watched the lines across Sam's forehead deepen as the young man stared at the screen.

They relaxed marginally as Sam found what he was looking for. "I traced the deaths back as far as I could."

Dean blinked at the screen as Sam turned it around. He was looking at an old newspaper article. There was a photo of a man along with two boys who Dean assumed were the man's sons, standing at the gate of a house. Below it were another two photos; one of the man himself, and one of the older of the two boys.

"From what I can tell, these were the first two casualties. Their car came off the road and went into the lake. The dad and the oldest brother died. The youngest brother survived and was found wandering back along the road in a state of shock. He was fostered out after that, I can't find what happened to him." Sam spun the laptop back around and again tapped away at the keys. "Their surname was Sleeman; the dad was Noel, the oldest brother James, and the youngest Craig. The mother died when Craig was three. They lived locally, but had no other known relatives."

Dean massaged his stiff neck. His head was aching again. "So what are you saying, Noel and James were the first two victims of whatever you think's in or around that lake?"

Sam frowned and shook his head. "Maybe, I'm not sure. Either that or they're the ones haunting it."

"Unless this is all just a coincidence, and there's nothing spooky going on."

Sam looked as though he'd been slapped. "Since when have you believed in _coincidence_?"

The older hunter raised his brows. "I'm just saying."

"This isn't a coincidence. I can feel there's something off about this place."

Dean studied his brother and was surprised to see determination etching Sam's features. Sam hadn't been enthused about anything in a long time. At least, not about any of the jobs they'd taken over the past month or so.

"I just think," Sam admitted, his voice losing some of its strength. "That it might be good if we hung around a few days. I know I said it yesterday, and I'll say it again; I don't think we should get back on the road until you're better. At least, I don't think we should take on any demons until we're both one hundred percent."

_The truth comes out_, Dean thought as he noted Sam's use of 'we'. He didn't mention that Sam had just admitted to being unwell, simply turned the idea over in his mind before nodding slowly and meeting his brother's gaze. "That's not to say this job- if it _is_ a job- will be a piece of cake, Sam."

"No, but you'd never agree to hang around if we didn't have something to occupy ourselves with. I know you, you'd climb the walls."

Dean went to deny the accusation but bit his tongue when he realized Sam was probably right. He withheld a chuckle, amused by the comment. But then he furrowed his brow, a new thought creeping to mind. "How did you know there might be something going on?"

Sam shifted and placed the laptop on the bed, rubbing his brow. "I, uh, overheard someone talking about it in the bar."

Dean waited for Sam to say more, but nothing came. A job that didn't involve demons _would_ be a breath of fresh air, he realized. As much as the he wanted to hunt down more of the little shits and send them back to Hell, he couldn't ignore the fact that Sam seemed more animated than he had been in a long time. They still had two days before Bobby had said he'd meet them in Atlanta. They could look around, see what turned up, deal with it if they had to and then move on. By that point he would probably be fine and whatever bug Sam had would be dead and buried. They'd have had a break, and some time to hang out together; which was something they hadn't been doing very much of lately, despite all the time they spent in one another's company. _It'd be just like old times_, Dean thought with a mixture of fondness and regret.

"So," the older man said. "What're you thinking? Head to the lake, have a bit of a poke around with the EMF, see if anything turns up?"

Sam nodded, his eyes hopeful, like a kid waiting for permission to go outside and play.

Dean wished he could capture the expression and keep it in his pocket, ready for him to glance upon whenever Sam's eyes were next filled with shadows or sadness. "Okay," he agreed. "But I have one condition."

Sam's expression wavered.

"We go get breakfast first," Dean explained. "And you _eat _a decent meal. You're not five years old. I shouldn't have to nag you to look after yourself. Your jeans are practically swimming on you, and if you keep going the way you are, there'll be nothing left. Then who'll watch my back and haul my ass out of the next bad situation we find ourselves in?"

Sam appeared mildly annoyed for a moment, but the rebellious comeback that had been resting on his tongue died within a heartbeat, and he nodded his agreement.

_Good_, Dean thought. _We're getting somewhere_.

But then Sam's expression changed abruptly. "Bobby-" he said suddenly.

Dean frowned at him. "What about Bobby?"

Sam shook his head, as if confused. "I, um, I just think we need to call him, let him know what's going on and all."

Dean frowned some more. Sam was rubbing his temples.

Reaching into his pocket, the older brother pulled out his phone and unlocked it, ready to dial their old friend's number. But the phone burst to life in a clamour of music, startling them both, and Dean glanced at the caller ID, realizing Bobby was calling them.

_Okay, _he thought, looking at Sam. _That's weird._

Sam didn't reply, just got up and walked towards the bathroom with his arm around his gut.

* * *

Bobby took a calming breath and ensured his voice was steady as Dean answered the phone. John's eldest son had always had a keen ear for inconsistencies in other people's tones, and would know that something wasn't right if Bobby allowed any emotion to slip into their conversation.

"Dean?" He said as a greeting. "Where you guys at?"

They'd never bothered with formalities, and Dean, obedient as ever, explained that he and Sam were about six hours out of Atlanta, taking a moment to look into a possible case in a small town before they headed on to the city.

Bobby felt relieved. He'd been worried they'd rush there and Dean would start poking around. The boy possessed the same recklessness his father had, always charging headlong into things, guns blazing. "I need you to stay put," he said firmly. "There's been a change in plans. I'm coming to you."

Even through the phone, he felt the boy's resistance.

"Okay," Dean replied after a moment. "We were going to hang around for a bit anyway, but we would have been right to head off in a day or so. Is there a reason?"

Of course Dean knew there was a reason. Bobby read between the lines and heard the request for an explanation, and the reluctance on Dean's part to go along with the suggestion.

"I've heard some things," he admitted. "There'll be a lot of hunters in Atlanta. People are talking, about the war and about what the demons could be planning. There are rumours…" he paused, searching for the right wording. "Some people believe that the demons are waiting for a powerful leader to arise. They say this leader is flesh and blood, and that most of the demons are willing to follow him or her. Most people I've spoken to will stop at nothing to find who it is and hunt them down. Are you hearing what I'm saying, Dean? I don't want you or Sam to go anywhere near Atlanta. I don't care if it drives you insane. Just keep your heads down until I can get to you."

There was a heavy silence. Bobby knew that Dean was processing the information. He knew that the situation wasn't ideal, but as far as he was concerned, he wouldn't put the boys in harm's way if he could help it.

"Okay," Dean replied eventually, a hint of irritation in his voice, but also a measure of understanding. "When do you think you might get here?"

"Two days, at the most."

The young man sighed. "Let's hope this job turns out to be something, then."

Bobby adjusted his hold on his phone. "Just… look out for your brother, okay."

"You know you don't have to ask me to do that."

Bobby knew, but he felt the need to say it anyway. "Sam's okay, isn't he? I mean, since your last job."

There was a slight pause.

"Yeah, he's okay," Dean replied uncertainly. "Why?"

Bobby steeled his voice again. "No reason. I just wanted to make sure, you know. You said you were both a bit worse for wear yesterday."

"He's a bit tired, but so am I. He's a bit more unhinged since he had to haul my ass from a burning building after taking on three demons. But then, I probably would be too if our roles had been reversed."

Bobby heard Dean's concern for his brother, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Dean was always concerned, on some level. He swallowed roughly and decided to trust that things were as they should be.

"I'll see you soon," he said.

Dean agreed, telling him to watch his back as well.

They ended the conversation.

Bobby slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He'd been holding it with his left hand, while his right hand was extended, his fingers curled around the grip of his shotgun. He stared along the barrel.

Ruby stood against a wall, her features calm, her expression betraying no fear.

"I should shoot you where you stand," he growled.

She didn't even flinch. "So you've said. Why don't you already?"

Bobby felt his finger twitch upon the trigger.

"Let me guess, Dean said Sam was fine?"

The old hunter didn't reply, just kept his aim steady.

"I've told you already," she said, taking a step forward. "Sam's sick. He's not listening to me. Dean probably doesn't see it yet, but he will, soon. Sam has darkness within him, and the cut from my knife will draw it out. He'll try to fight it, because that's who he is, but it's powerful and I don't know that it's a battle he can win."

Bobby tightened his grip on his weapon. "Stay the hell back."

Anger flashed over her features very briefly, shadowing her eyes.

"I don't trust you as far as I could throw you," the hunter stated. "And make no mistake; I could throw you pretty God damned far."

She glared at him, her eyes boring into his.

He wasn't intimidated.

"I can tell you're a friend of theirs," she announced. "You're just as hard-headed. And I can see why you love them. They're the sons you never had. As much as it hurts you to admit it, you miss your stubborn old friend. You feel you owe it to John Winchester's memory to look out for his boys."

Bobby felt his hackles rise. "You know nothing."

She smiled thinly. "Then why is their doubt in your eyes? I'm telling the truth. I'm trying to help them, and you."

Bobby shook his head. "You wouldn't know what 'helping people' meant even if it came and bit you in the ass."

Her shoulders stiffened and her glare intensified.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a threatening growl. "Whatever you lot want with Sam, I'll see to it that you don't get it. Mark my words."

She scoffed. "Sam could be dead within a few days. He'll be no use to any of us then."

Bobby refused to believe it. Demons lied. "This conversation's over," he stated, directing his gun at her heart.

He knew it wouldn't kill her, but he pulled the trigger anyway. She flew against the wall with a crack and crumpled to the ground.

He bent over, making a grab for the knife at her hip. But her knee flew up and caught him in the jaw, sending him sprawling through the gravel with a sharp exhale of breath.

She towered over him, pinning him with her boot.

"You remember this," she said, "I should kill you where you lay."

Bobby tasted blood against his teeth and prepared himself to kick back.

"But I want to make a point," she continued, leaning closer. "I'm going to let you live."

He lashed out with his boot, but she dodged the blow and threw him back against the ground as he attempted to sit up.

"Maybe when you wake, you'll reconsider what I've said." Her eyes clouded over, inky and cold.

Bobby tried once more to gain the upper hand, but she snatched his weapon and brought the hilt down with a crack, straight across his forehead.

The hunter sank into oblivion.

Ruby disappeared into the shadows, leaving no trace of her presence behind.

* * *

Sam had felt like he was about to throw up when Dean had received the phone call from Bobby. He'd vanished into the bathroom and had knelt beside the toilet until the nausea and dizziness had subsided. He couldn't explain it, he'd had a very strong inkling their friend was in trouble right before the phone had rung. But he'd listened through the door, and had made no note of trouble as he'd judged the tone of his brother's voice through the short conversation. He'd sat, hunched over, with an arm slung around his churning stomach. There was a lot, he'd realized, that had happened recently that he didn't understand.

Now as he sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, his breakfast threatening to reappear, he rubbed his temples and glanced across at his brother. Dean had insisted on driving, possibly feeling that he had to prove something in order to gain Sam's trust once again. The younger man drew a steadying breath and flipped through his pile of notes. They were on their way to the lake to have a poke around, and Sam couldn't help but feel a little strange as they drove along the same stretch of road that had caused them so much grief only the day before.

They located the spot, and pulled onto the gravel shoulder. A torrent of emotions tumbled through Sam as he stepped from the car and into the sunshine. The light hurt his eyes, and he squinted against its glare as it reflected off the surface of the lake. Dean got out of the car, turning to survey the scene. The memory of their brush with death was etched into the gravel in the form of deep tyre marks, running from the road and stopping abruptly against the grassy bank. Sam let his eyes slip out of focus as he watched the tall stalks of grass bobbing in the light breeze. He was grateful Dean had decided to stay and look into this case. He was happy Bobby had decided to come to them instead of them having to travel another six hours to Atlanta. But he still felt anxious, and he couldn't quite explain why. He tried as best he could to bury his troubled feelings and focus on the task at hand, stepping towards the lake to begin looking around.

Dean cranked up the EMF and they began scouring the shore. Neither knew exactly what they were looking for, but if there was any supernatural presence lurking about they'd be alerted by Dean's home-made device. They made small talk, throwing a handful of insults back and forth. It felt just like a normal job, only there was a measure of tension that stretched between them and Sam found his thoughts scattering in a similar fashion to the bugs that lifted from the grass as they passed by. He began wondering about the little boy who'd survived the first accident, and how he'd felt being the last living member of his small family. The ever-present throbbing pain in his shoulder spread across his chest until it had found his heart. In less than twelve months, he'd know exactly how that little boy had felt. The God damned clock was still ticking and he was no closer to finding a solution to Dean's Hell-related problem.

He could always accept Ruby's offer of help, he realized.

A sudden surge of anger had him clenching his fists and wanting to beat the crap out of something.

"Sam?" Dean was staring at him uncertainly.

Sam closed his eyes and shook the rage from his mind. He blinked rapidly, feeling the anger recede and the heat leave his fingertips. It had come in a powerful wave, but now that it was leaving he felt incredibly achy and drained. His vision swam for a moment.

Dean's hand found his shoulder and he flinched, stepping back.

"You good?" The older man attempted to mask his worry with a nervous laugh. "You looked like you were on Planet Sammy for a moment there."

Sam rubbed his eyes, nodding hastily and squeezing a tight smile. He'd never been better. "Just a headache, that's all. Let's keep going." He took a shaky step, willing his body to co-operate before Dean thought to ask too many questions. It was a miracle he hadn't been grilled already.

Dean swept the EMF left and right, and Sam followed as they picked their way along the bank. Without warning, the hairs on the back of Sam's neck prickled, sending ripples of unease down his spine and he halted his steps, turning around.

He felt like someone was watching them.

Dean stopped abruptly and turned to his brother, seeking either an instruction or an explanation.

Sam held up a hand, listening.

But no unusual sound met his ears, and as he scanned their surroundings he failed to notice anything out of place.

_That doesn't mean there's nothing there_, he thought soberly, locking eyes with Dean.

A strange feeling crept over him and he was overwhelmed by an urgent need to step away from the lake.

He caught Dean by the elbow and pulled his brother away, just as he felt something cold and wet brush his ankle. It sent prickles up his leg and caused his blood to run cold.

Dean said nothing and the EMF remained silent, but once they'd reached what Sam considered a safe distance the older hunter raised a brow, reaching for his weapon.

Sam was confused. The feeling had left him. He let his eyes wander back towards the lake and the innocent ripples travelling across the surface.

"What is it?" Dean finally whispered.

Sam frowned, realizing that he was unable to offer an explanation for what he'd just felt. He shook his head. "I thought I saw something."

Dean's expression shifted many times before he settled for a look that was halfway between amusement and irritation. "I thought that's why we came out here," he said, raising a brow. "Weren't we hoping to find something?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but movement to their left killed the words upon his tongue.

Dean followed his brother's gaze and saw what Sam was looking at; a strange old man picking his way along the bank. He grabbed his brother's elbow and they stepped back into the cover of the trees.

Crouching down, Sam felt his skin once again prickle and his hairs stand on end. This time the EMF emitted a series of low whistles, indicating there was some sort of presence nearby, and both boys cast their eyes to the stranger by the water.

_Not a stranger_, Sam realized, recognizing the man from the bar. Today he wore a trench coat and an array of charms and woven bands around his wrists. He also had a staff, which he appeared to be using as a guide to finding safe footing along the soft bank.

"And what do we have here?" Dean breathed, narrowing his eyes.

The man stopped, tilting his ear towards them, as if he'd heard Dean's whisper.

Sam held a finger to his lips, his heart beating faster.

The man remained in the same position, listening intently, his beard blowing slightly in the breeze. It felt like forever before he began to walk again.

Dean made a move to follow, but Sam still sensed something wasn't right and placed a restraining hand on his sibling's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" The older brother's tone was annoyed. "That guy is all shades of weird. I'm willing to bet he's not just out for a leisurely stroll."

Sam agreed. "But he's also the guy from the bar who believed this road was cursed. Why would he have said that if he had something to do with it?"

Dean pulled a face. "God, I don't know, maybe because he wanted to put you off? Perhaps he felt threatened by you, sensed you had the potential to kick his freaky ass. Hell, you kicked _my_ ass last night."

Sam felt his stomach turn. He didn't need to be reminded. "I just don't think we should follow him. Apparently he has a cottage somewhere by this lake. He goes to the bar at the same time every night, so we could check out his place while he's out later." A sharp pain shot through his shoulder and he winced involuntarily, curling forward. "I think it's better to wait until then."

Dean's voice was suddenly serious. "Or we could just go back to the room, and you could lay down a while."

Sam squeezed his eyes closed against another bout of sudden dizziness and accepted a hand from his brother as they rose to their feet. He'd been hoping to hide the fact that he wasn't feeling well, but obviously Dean had caught on somewhere along the line. _He's too sharp when it comes to these things_, he thought unhappily.

"I'm okay, it's just my stomach," he lied.

But Dean didn't reply, just walked him back towards the car, glancing behind them every now and then to make sure that the old man hadn't noticed their escape. "You can fool yourself all you like," he said eventually. "But you can't fool me."

Sam went to protest that he hadn't been trying to fool anyone, which was also a lie, but Dean cut him off.

"I've been telling you for weeks, you need to eat more and look after yourself. I just keep wishing you'd listen." He unlocked the doors. "You've even got Bobby worried, and he's not even here."

Sam slid into his usual seat and waited for Dean to finish ranting before he attempted to speak. "What will you do, if I have to stay in the room? You can't just dump me and go follow that old guy, you know."

Dean dropped into his seat and massaged his temples. "You know, between you and Bobby, I really have no reason to miss dad at all. I'm not going to run off, okay. I'm not a freakin' dog."

Sam bit back a related comment.

"My brain feels like it's about to fall out my ears," Dean admitted. "My head hurts, and I could use some drugs. But I'm not going to take any because they make me fall asleep."

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "We could go to the library. That doesn't require much energy. We could see if there's any more information on the accidents, or anything about that old man."

Dean shot him a clearly unimpressed look. "Or we could sit in our room watching quality daytime TV and plan how we'll stake out Evil Gandalf's cottage later this evening."

"It's not a stake out if he isn't there, Dean."

The older brother didn't reply, just shook his head and pulled them back out onto the road.

From where he stood by the lake, the bearded old man turned at the sound of the Impala's engine rumbling away. He narrowed his steely eyes, fingers curling more tightly around his staff. The breeze played with the charms hanging from his wrists and he shifted his eyes to settle upon the surface of the water, holding his gaze there a long time despite the fact that his vision was close to useless and there was nothing obvious to see. He'd known the boys had been watching him. He'd expected to find them here today.

* * *

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

_It's been a bit of a nasty week, sorry for the delay. Thanks again for the reviews, they mean heaps._

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

Dean decided to ignore Sam's question. If the kid had bothered to look in the mirror lately, he'd know exactly why he'd been allowed to rest.

Sam shifted irritably in his place. "You should have woken me. We could have spent the time doing more research."

_Research_,God, Sam loved that word. Dean kept his eyes firmly fixed upon the cottage.

It was just after five and they were still waiting for the old man to emerge. The light was fading from the sky and the breeze was cold as it came off the lake. A bug brushed the older hunter's cheek and he brought his hand up to slap it away. Sam mumbled something under his breath, hugging himself and burying his chin against his knees. The ground was damp and uncomfortable, and Dean's knees were aching from squatting for so long. He just wanted to get this over with; his head was throbbing like hell.

"You should have woken me up."

This time Dean threw a sidelong glare towards his brother. Over the space of an hour, Sam had regressed into a whinging five-year-old, and it was causing Dean to revisit his earlier desire to punch his sibling in the face. _What the hell has gotten into him_? He was beginning to think that it might be a valid question.

Sam had lain down upon his bed and had fallen asleep within a couple of minutes after they'd returned to their room. Dean had felt a small amount of alarm at how exhausted had Sam seemed, but had restrained himself from disturbing his brother and had spent the afternoon yawning through bad television and skimming over Sam's scribbled notes on their current case.

His head had been throbbing but he'd refused to take more painkillers. It _was_ possible, he admitted now, that he may have dozed off for a bit whilst sitting on his bed, but it couldn't have been for more than half an hour, and Sam still hadn't stirred when he'd woken. He'd hovered over Sam a while, remembering his conversation with Bobby. The younger man had trembled slightly while he'd slept, but a light brush of Dean's hand against his forehead had ruled out the possibility of a fever.

_He's just run-down_, Dean had told himself again, denying that it was sounding more and more like a mantra. _He just needs a bit of rest, and a few decent meals. He'll be back to normal in no time_.

Back to normal; it had been a nice idea, at least.

Dean had been channel surfing when Sam had begun to toss and turn upon his bed. At first the older brother had sat there blinking, not sure what to do, but then Sam had begun to cry out and gasp, and it had spurred Dean to his feet.

"No, no, fire-" Sam was yelling, his features contorting in fear while perspiration gathered on his brow.

"Hey, whoa, take it easy-" Dean had said, attempting to restrain him.

But Sam's eyes had snapped open, his fist arcing up, narrowly missing his older brother's jaw as it swung around fiercely.

_And that_, Dean recalled anxiously, as he currently sat watching the cottage, _was the beginning of Sam's latest bout of PMS._

He'd attempted to follow Sam when the kid had stumbled into the bathroom, but had kindly been told to _go away, _before the door had slammed in his face.

He'd rapped his fist against the flaky paint, his headache pounding his brain. "_Sam-_"

But Sam had called through the wall that he didn't need help, because he was _fine_.

Dean had resolved then and there to shoot Sam the next time he said the f-word.

Now, with aching joints and thinning patience, he attempted to push away his frustrations in order to run over what they knew about the accidents that had happened by the lake. It was one of those cases that could go either way; they'd either find something, or the whole thing would turn out to be a complete waste of time. He'd been willing to humour Sam by looking into it, because his little brother had seemed keen. But Sam was just giving him the shits now. All his enthusiasm had dissolved into irritation.

Movement by the cottage caught Dean's attention and jolted his troubled thoughts to an abrupt halt. He signalled Sam, but Sam had already seen it.

The younger man glared icily, mouthing something Dean didn't quite understand.

Dean refused to hold eye contact with his painfully immature brother for more than three seconds. _Your bed has two sides, Sammy. I'm sorry you got up on the wrong freakin' one._

The old man took his staff from its resting place by the front door and began walking down the drive towards the main road, picking his way confidently along the familiar ground. Judging from the way he was walking, Dean figured the man had made the pilgrimage to the bar many times.

He slowly rose to his feet.

From beside him, Sam hesitated a moment before following suit.

Within a handful of minutes, the man was out of sight, and Dean was stepping through the vegetation towards the wooden building. The front door wasn't difficult to open; it was unlocked, strangely enough. He pushed it gently and stepped inside. Some of the lights had been left on.

"I guess there aren't many burglars around here," he commented, eyes sweeping the room.

Sam moved around him, making no attempt to tread quietly. "Apart from you," he replied nastily.

Dean blinked at his brother's back. _What the hell was that supposed to mean_? The urge to snap overwhelmed him, but he bit his tongue.

"I vote we split up." Sam turned and let his eyes wander about the room.

"It's not a big house, Sam, let's go through it together."

"You do what you like. I'm starting in the kitchen."

Dean was clenching his jaw in frustration. "Fine, whatever. You start in the kitchen."

Sam either failed to pick up on his brother's mounting anger, or really didn't care. He walked away.

Dean lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Was Sam aware that he was acting like a complete jerk? Experience had taught him that when Sam got like this, there was usually a reason. But he couldn't for the life of him think of anything he'd done to deserve the crap he was copping from his brother. _Just get through this, and then lay into him when we get back to the car_. _We're on a time-frame_. But God, if they weren't, Dean would have the boy pinned to a wall and would be demanding some answers, pronto. Sam didn't get antsy when he got sick; he got quiet, and withdrawn.

Dean turned towards an array of photos scattered across a wall. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he figured he'd know it if he found it. He began to scan the pictures.

From the direction of the kitchen, he heard his brother roughly opening and closing drawers.

"Make a little more noise, why don't you," he mumbled sarcastically.

Sam's flushed face appeared in the doorway. "At least I'm doing something," he hissed, unimpressed.

Dean frowned. Did Sam have super hearing now? His brother shouldn't have been able to hear that.

Sam flung himself back to his task.

Dean tried not to dwell on the fact that Sam was acting just slightly manic.An alarming thought rose to mind. What if Sam's problem was mental? What if he needed professional help? Guilt came and settled heavily in his stomach as he considered the possibility that his little brother had seriously fallen apart. Refusing to dwell on the idea, he turned his eyes back to the faces in the pictures.

There was the strange old man, looking slightly younger, on a summer's day out by the lake. And a woman with angular yet beautiful features, smiling by his side. From the angle of the photo, Dean guessed she'd held the camera at arm's length and had snapped the shot. Her face, he noticed, featured in several of the other pictures scattered about the room. She'd meant a lot to the stranger, he figured, marking their body language and the light in their eyes. _They were in love_. She obviously wasn't around anymore.

The room had a masculine feel with limited colour, and most of the furniture was made from wood. There were a couple of books lined up on a shelf and an assortment of weapons displayed above the hearth. Dean stepped closer to the knives and guns, admiring their craftsmanship. The man was either a collector, or a complete psychopath.

He noticed some strange ornaments lined up along the windowsill. Some were vaguely familiar though he couldn't be sure where he'd seen them before. Various charms hung from the curtain rail, a couple of them catching the dim light of the lamp that they hung beside. They weren't your average sun-catchers, he realized, noting the beads and feathers wound through a couple of them. He took out his EMF and flipped it on. There was definitely something off about this place.

He was about to begin scanning the room when a subtle shift in the air behind him caused him to draw his weapon and spin around.

The old man stood less than two feet from him, his staff flicking upwards so quickly that Dean didn't have time to react.

His weapon went flying across the room, and his EMF meter was knocked to the floor. He stepped back, blinking at the man and trying to work out how he could retrieve his gun.

The old man's eyes were blue steel, slightly clouded over, and they bored into Dean's. "Well, well, well," the stranger said calmly, stepping to block the young hunter from making a move. "What do we have here?"

* * *

Sam couldn't have described how he was feeling even if he'd tried. It was almost as if he'd been split in two, yet the side that held the majority of his consciousness was also the side that he had the least control over.

He'd fallen asleep in their motel room and had dreamed of being burned alive. He'd woken, screaming, with an inferno raging through his shoulder and stomach, and had stumbled to the bathroom with Dean hot on his heels and a desire to do some serious damage to either someone or something. It had been absolutely terrifying, and raw anger had pulsed through his body. He'd stayed in the bathroom, bent over the sink, too scared to come out in case he did something to his brother that he'd later regret.

In the car on the way to the cottage he'd attempted to take deep breaths. Dean had been on and off with questions and fury had burned so badly within Sam that he'd had to ball his fists in order not to punch something. He'd been sweating, shaking, and every now and then his right wrist would sting and he'd rub at it irritably, trying to stop the fire that had sparked around it as well. It wasn't until they'd located the cottage and had pulled off the road that he'd thought to roll back his sleeve and take a look at what might be causing the sensation. His blood had frozen in his veins at the sight that had greeted him; small blisters and welts bubbled in a sizeable patch upon his skin. _Oh my God_, he'd thought, recalling the holy water from earlier. _This isn't happening_.

He'd swayed against the car, mind spinning and legs threatening to fold. Thankfully Dean had been collecting their stuff from the trunk and hadn't witnessed his little brother's discovery. Sam had hastily jerked his sleeve over his hand, attempting to hide not only the sores but his mounting anxiety from his already suspicious sibling. He'd then spent the majority of the time they'd sat outside the cottage focusing on the portion of his emotions that he still had some control over.

When they'd entered the house Sam had suggested they split up because he'd wanted to put distance between himself and his brother. He'd figured if he searched the cottage's small kitchen while Dean searched the lounge room, he'd be able to take a moment to entertain the panic that had been steadily brewing within him since he'd woken up. He was frightened of the blisters and what they could mean, as well as of the darkness swelling within him. He'd begun to open cupboards and slam drawers, feeling a sickening sense of pleasure at being able to appease at least a splinter of his need to pound something. It had been immensely irritating when Dean had yelled something sarcastic about the level of noise he was making. Sam had had to fight really hard not to go into the lounge room and knock his brother's teeth out.

He'd moved out of the doorway after replying to his brother's comment, through the kitchen and towards what had appeared to be a small storeroom. He'd yanked open the door and had disappeared into the cool dark of the room beyond, falling back against a wall and crumpling upon the ground like a dying spider. He'd curled in upon himself, attempting to contain whatever was fighting and screaming to be let out of his body. "Not happening," he'd breathed, scrunching his eyes against the pain that was ripping through his shoulder. He would have stayed like that forever, but a sudden crash from the lounge room had broken him from his state.

Now he lifted his eyes, blinking through the darkness. Clumsily he straightened his limbs and pushed himself to his feet, listening.

Something was wrong. Somehow he knew that the stranger was here and that Dean was in trouble. He narrowed his eyes, a new wave of rage flooding through him as his fingers curled around the handle of his weapon and he drew it from his belt. He moved back through the kitchen, his breathing quick and erratic.

His grip was shaky as he approached the door of the lounge room and took aim.

* * *

"I mightn't be able to see," the stranger said, lowering his staff. "But I'd know John Winchester's boys from a mile away."

Dean's frantic thoughts crashed to a halt and his expression was reminiscent of a rabbit in the headlights.He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't quite construct a sentence.

"Didn't your father teach you it's rude to break into people's houses?" The stranger's steely gaze was unwavering.

When Dean still didn't reply, the old man continued. "I guessed there was a reason Bobby asked me to keep an eye on you both. I only spoke to him this morning and here you are, already knee-deep in trouble. Where's your brother? I knew that was him last night, at the bar."

As if on cue, Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway. His tall frame was silhouetted by the lights that shone behind him and his gun was aimed directly at the old man's head.

Dean focused his gaze on his brother and the slight tremble in the younger man's hand. The lines etched across Sam's brow were like deep crevasses and he was more pale than he had been before, if that was possible.

The old man didn't flinch, simply took a deep breath and shifted his weight. "My name's Giles. I'm a friend of Bobby's. I had the pleasure of meeting your father once or twice."

Dean's shoulders stiffened at the mention of their father.

"You step away from him," Sam ordered, his voice harsh. "You back off or I'll put a hole in your brain."

Dean felt a chill at the anger lacing Sam's tone. Giles' gaze met Sam's, and Sam stepped forward threateningly.

"It's not a good day to get on his bad side," Dean admitted, finally loosening the knot in his tongue. He nailed his brother with a look. "It's alright, Sammy." His eyes once again travelled to meet the old man's. "Are you a hunter?"

Sam growled. "He's no hunter. If he was, he'd have done something about the deaths by the lake."

A strange expression passed over Giles' features; subtle, yet not subtle enough to escape Dean's keen eye.

"Tell us how you know Bobby," the older brother asked firmly.

"He doesn't. He's lying." Sam was fidgeting. He'd lowered his weapon but it was slowly creeping back up again, almost as if he was eager to blow the old bastard away.

Dean couldn't help but notice his sibling's unsettling body language.

"You're right," Giles admitted to Sam. "I am no hunter. I don't have the heart for it."

"Then what's with all the charms?" Dean threw a half-nod towards the window. "What are they, some sort of protection? What are you trying to protect yourself from?"

"He knows about the accidents," Sam hissed impatiently. "He knows there's something out there. Perhaps he's even controlling it."

Dean considered this possibility.

Sam's finger was once again flexing on the trigger of his gun.

"What do you know about the accidents?" Dean felt troubled that his brother was making him nervous.

Giles remained unperturbed by Sam's stance or demeanour. "I have my suspicions," he replied finally. "But I'm not the cause of whatever's happening by this lake." His eyes wandered to the charms at his window. "My wife gave me those. She was a hunter. That's how I met Bobby and your father."

"Where is your wife now?" Sam's voice held no compassion.

Dean looked from the old man to his brother and back again.

"She's dead," Giles told them sadly. He shook his head. "It's almost eighteen years now that she's been gone."

"Is that why you have no heart for hunting?" Dean realized the question was cold, but it was over his lips before he could stop it.

"Boy," Giles said, "I wasn't keen on it the whole time she was alive. I always knew one day she'd go and not come back. But she loved it. And, God help me, I loved her. I couldn't have stopped her even if I'd tried."

"You said Bobby contacted you." Despite the man's genuine tone, Dean wasn't ready to trust him. "Why?"

Sam had once again lowered his weapon and his shoulders had lost some of their stiffness. A thin sheen of perspiration was gathering upon his brow.

The old man's steely eyes wandered to settle upon the youngest Winchester. "I guess he was worried you'd start poking into things and would wind up in trouble."

"You were the one who mentioned the road might be cursed," Sam mumbled, his voice raspy. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have started poking in the first place."

"Yes. There were certain things I didn't realize," Giles replied.

Dean's eyes remained upon his brother. Something in Sam's posture was all wrong. He almost looked as if he was swaying. "What do you mean _certain things_?" He spoke to the old man, but didn't look at him.

Sam blinked a couple of times and passed a shaky hand across his brow. His eyes were beginning to wander vaguely.

Dean stepped towards his sibling, barely listening to the old man's reply.

"You should stay away from this case," Giles explained, his expression indicating that he'd also noticed something was wrong with Sam. "Keep away from the lake." His cloudy eyes tracked Dean as he moved towards his brother. "Stay away from the bar."

Dean reached a hand towards Sam's shoulder.

Giles' gaze settled upon Sam as Dean tried to catch his brother's wandering eyes.

"Sam?" The older brother questioned.

Sam groaned and pulled away from Dean's concerned touch, stumbling back a couple of steps.

Dean felt his stomach turn. Sam was far too pale, trembling all over and not meeting his gaze.

"Is he alright?" Giles was moving closer now.

Dean didn't want the old man getting too near his brother. He blocked the path, reaching out again. "Sammy?"

Sam groaned and clutched his stomach. Dean went to support him, but Sam was already crumpling to the floor, eyes rolling back in his head.

* * *

Sam had been blinded by rage. It had clouded his vision and his judgement, numbing his senses to the point where he'd been completely unable to feel anything at all. He'd literally wanted to _kill_ the old man. He hadn't cared whether the stranger had been a friend of Bobby's, and he certainly hadn't cared whether he'd known their father. All he'd wanted to do was pull the God damn trigger of his gun so that he could paint the fucking room with the old bastard's brains. He'd almost laughed as he'd imagined it. It had tickled him freakin' pink to picture the look that would have played across his brother's face if he'd executed the pathetic hermit.

But then the rage had left him. It had dissolved abruptly and had taken his balance and the madness from his mind. He'd felt his cheeks burning up, and the fire re-igniting in his shoulder and his wrist, grilling his insides. He'd heard Dean asking whether he was alright, but he hadn't been able to reply. He hadn't even been able to focus on his brother's face because the entire room was swimming. When had they gone for a swim and why was the ground tilting like the cottage was sliding down a steep hill?

Sam had felt himself falling, but hadn't been able to do anything about it. Cold darkness had come, seeping ruthlessly into his aching bones and freezing his skeleton as fire burned his flesh. Now, as he lay in its confines, he felt something shifting within him. It was almost as if his soul was being torn from his body and he felt the very foundations of his being begin to rattle and creak. His grip on himself stretched to its limit and he felt like he was fading away. For a fraction of a moment, he completely forgot who he was. Dean's distant voice was like a light in the darkness, a fishing hook that snagged the back of his jacket and pulled him from the mire.

He awoke, gasping and choking. Dean's face was too close, his expression far too concerned. Dean shouldn't look like that. Dean should be in control.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was echoing. "Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

Sam would have if he could have. But the honest truth was that he had absolutely no idea. And he was terrified.

* * *

Dean grabbed two fistfuls of Sam's shirt and hoisted the younger man off the floor. Sam's legs were devoid of strength and he wobbled dangerously, leaning heavily upon the older brother's shoulder and groaning as if in pain. Giles moved to lend a hand but Dean shuffled his brother out of the way. Too many things had happened all at once, and Dean's brain was having trouble catching up. Sam was sick; sicker than Dean had originally thought. He didn't exactly know what to do, but he wasn't about to hang around this stranger's house trying to work it out.

"Can I help?" The old man seemed genuinely concerned, but Dean had seen far too much during his lifetime to trust anyone so easily.

"No," he replied sternly, moving himself and Sam towards the door. "I've got him, thanks."

"Does he need a doctor?"

_Good question, _Dean thought worriedly. "No, he's fine. Thank you. He's just been a bit run down lately."

Sam's face contorted in pain and he nearly collapsed again. Dean shifted around for a better grip on his brother, wishing like hell that he could also get a better grip on himself.

"You remember what I said." Giles shuffled to the door. "You stay away from this case. Especially with your brother the way he is. You look after him."

Dean groaned under Sam's weight. He wondered whether Bobby had asked Giles to recite that last part. It was just like having their dad around all over again. _Look out for Sammy_… _Take care of your brother_. For God's sake, he didn't need to be reminded. He'd _never_ needed to be reminded. Since the night their mother had died, it'd been burned into his freakin' mind. Sometimes he even heard it in his sleep.

As he struggled with his brother down the couple of steps that lead from the front door to the gravel drive, he threw a look at the old man. He still wasn't sure what to make of the stranger, but in case he actually was who he claimed to be, Dean felt he should offer some form of apology for the circumstances under which they'd met. "I'm, uh, sorry we broke into your house," he said awkwardly. "No hard feelings, okay."

Giles nodded, concern continuing to stain his features as his foggy eyes regarded the younger of the two brothers. "I can't blame you. Most folk around here don't think too kindly of me."

_That's because you look like a complete freak, and live out here all by yourself._ "I can't promise we'll let this case go," Dean stated bluntly. "If there's something going on out here and you know more than you're letting on, I'll be mighty pissed."

I splinter of a smile broke through the man's expression. "You sound just like your father."

Dean didn't smile back. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Giles didn't reply, and Dean steeled himself to haul his heavy sibling back to their car, swallowing his mounting panic in relation to whatever the hell was going on with Sam.

* * *

Sam tried to hold himself upright but he just didn't have the strength. He felt terrible for the way Dean cursed and swore every time they stumbled on something hidden within the dark as they tried to locate the Impala. When they finally found it, he allowed himself to be lowered into the passenger seat, tilting his head back against the nausea and dizziness assaulting his body. Dean's hands were on either side of his face, lifting open heavy eyelids Sam hadn't even meant to close. There was so much pain throbbing through his body that he was beginning to feel his mind trying to separate from it. His grip on reality was wearing thin, and even though he was aware that Dean was speaking to him, his hearing was blinking in and out like a radio with a poor signal and he had no idea what the hell Dean was on about.

"…really starting to freak me out here kiddo..."

Sam groaned involuntarily as he swallowed back rising bile.

"Sammy… hey, c'mon man… Give me a reason not to take you to the nearest hospital…."

Dean's firm grip on Sam's wounded shoulder was excruciating. Sam tried to twist away. "No hospitals," he managed to mumble.

"Well _what_ then?" Dean was scared, his voice panicky.

_Don't panic, _Sam thought absently, feeling sicker at his brother's uncharacteristic tone than he did from any of his current physical woes. He pried open an eyelid to stare at his sibling, but his vision wouldn't focus.

"… and don't tell me you're fine, because I'll fucking kill you if you say that…"

Sam felt the seat shift and for a moment slipped into another, darker place. He had fire within him, burning up his insides. He felt like it was eating him alive.

"… just _slightly_ worried about you…. _Sam_…?"

Sam snapped back to reality. Dean should be worried. He felt a surge of anger so powerful it threatened to tear his limbs from his body and his hand swerved up in a desperate attempt to clutch at his brother's throat.

Dean's fingers suddenly curled around his, and the action grounded him. Sam fell forwards, gasping.

"God, you're burning up." Dean's hands were pulling Sam's jacket tighter, wiping the damp hair out of his eyes.

Sam's hearing had re-tuned itself and he wished that his brother would stop yelling. _God, why was Dean yelling?_ He cringed away.

Dean was pushing him back into the seat and pulling the safety belt around his waist.

A part of Sam wished that his brother would just leave him there. _It would be safer_, he thought, aching as the realization hit him. "Dean…," he rasped.

But Dean wasn't listening. The older man stepped back and slammed Sam's door, appearing a moment later in the driver's seat.

Sam's ears felt like they would bleed as the engine screamed to life.

"…gonna get you back, get you in bed… decent night's sleep and some rest… get your strength back…"

There was a lapse in Dean's rambling as he punched a speed dial on his phone. Sam tried to ask who Dean was calling, but his tongue refused to form the words.

A sudden growl indicated Dean hadn't been successful. Sam heard his brother speaking quickly into his cell.

"… Sam's sick… didn't need a freakin' babysitter God damn it… heading back to the motel… call me when you get this." The phone was shoved back into Dean's pocket and he stepped on the gas.

Sam felt himself sinking through the seat and disappearing into darkness once again.

The next thing he knew they were screaming to a halt and he was being dragged from the car, supported by his brother and carried to the door of their room. He heard the key turn in the lock, and every breath that jumped into and out of Dean's lungs.

_He's scared. He should be. _Sam's mind kept chanting. _He should be scared._

Dean manoeuvred them both into the cold room and flipped on the lights. The door was slammed shut, and Sam was guided towards his bed. The blinds were drawn but Sam found his eyes wandering to the window, a new sense of panic awakening within him.

They were being watched. He could feel it.

If it was Ruby, he'd kill her.

"I'll kill you," he hissed, barely conscious of the words tumbling from his lips.

His brother heard him, and stopped what he was doing. "Sammy? Just lay back okay, you're safe. Calm down."

_Not safe_, Sam's mind screamed. He fell against his pillow, wincing as the movement jarred him. _Not safe… Not safe…_

But Dean had stopped listening.

Sam once again felt his consciousness tearing in half. He tried to hold on, but the pull was far too great. Mentally flailing, he fell away.

* * *

Across the road at the bar, Matt stumbled into the bathroom.

He fell upon the sink and wrenched the tap until cold water was spewing everywhere, cascading over his hands and gathering in a great pool as he cupped his palms and bent his face, splashing it over his eyes and across his forehead, his whole body trembling and his stomach tying itself in knots. A shadow in the corner of his vision caused him to flinch, and he spun around wildly, scanning the room. A boy appeared behind him, only visible in the reflection of the mirror, and he back-peddled until his heels knocked the base of one of the cubicle walls.

"You can't be here," he hissed at the ghost, his breathing erratic. "You shouldn't still be here! Why can't you leave me the hell alone? I don't want to see you anymore!"

He whimpered as the boy's face drew nearer in the mirror. The spirit had cold eyes, and a wicked twitch to its smile.

"It's past the day," Matt continued desperately. "Why are you still here? You shouldn't be here. I wish you'd go away. Why can't you go away?"

The ghost continued to stare, and a droplet of sweat traced its way down Matt's cheek. The silence was so heavy Matt could hear ringing in his ears.

"You betrayed me, little brother." The child's voice was cracked and distorted. "You _turned _on me. You'll pay."

Matt felt his legs begin to give way. "It was an accident," he sobbed. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

But the ghost's expression was compassionless. "We're not even. I want my little brother back. You _left_ me."

"I didn't leave you…" Matt was on his knees now.

The child's face wavered, before flickering out of view.

Matt held his breath, his heart banging painfully against his rib cage.

"_None of them have been right_!"

The acid voice beside his ear sent his stomach lurching and his arms and legs flailing as he scrambled across the floor, trying to get away.

The ghost reappeared, its hair and clothes beginning to drip, its skin turning the colour of decomposition. It leaned closer, its voice coming in a watery gurgle. "The last one got away."

Matt's Adam's apple bobbed frantically as he suppressed the urge to cry out.

Water was running down the ghost's legs, forming a phantom pool upon the stained floor.

"I-Is that why you're still here?" Matt's voice was a whisper, barely audible.

The ghost didn't reply.

Matt flinched as it dissolved in a rush of water, spray catching him in the face and freezing his skin.

The fluorescent light buzzed and flickered a couple of times, throwing him into brief moments of darkness before stabilizing and holding its glow. He ran a shaky hand across his face, unable to free himself from the sensation the drops had caused when they'd hit his cheeks. He stayed on the floor for a handful of heartbeats, before pushing himself upright and stumbling into one of the cubicles.

Thankfully the bar was empty, otherwise all and sundry would have heard him throwing up.

* * *

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

_This chapter has been a right royal pain to post- thanks fanfiction ;) But hopefully it'll work now. I'm going to change my **spoiler warning**, I think. I may end up using some more things from this season so far, so just in case I do, consider yourselves warned. Thanks again if you've stuck with this story so far, and to everyone who's left a comment! Ta :)_

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

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It was well into the night and Dean found himself teetering on the verge of panic. He'd fed Sam as many painkillers as he could, but still Sam's fever burned on. Bobby hadn't yet called them back and that was worrying in itself, because Bobby wasn't unreliable by any means and if he wasn't returning a call, Dean had to assume something was wrong. He'd tried calling their friend another three times, but each attempt had resulted in the phone ringing out. A feeling of dread sank its claws into the older brother's stomach, growing heavier with every minute that ticked by. Despite Bobby's warning to lay low, Dean was beginning to think he might be forced to rush Sam to the nearest hospital. In all their years, Sam had never become so sick, so fast, and it was just slightly terrifying.

Sam lay on his back upon his bed. His eyes were squeezed closed and every now and then a string of indecipherable words would break his lips. Dean had tried rousing him, but Sam was far from coherent. He was sweating and trembling and occasionally winced or groaned as if in pain, his limbs striking out of their own accord. Once or twice his hand had narrowly missed the lamp on the night stand, and Dean had had to dive in to prevent disaster.

"Sam?" Dean tried, leaning over his brother and brushing damp hair away from the kid's sweaty brow.

Sam groaned and turned his face away from Dean's voice.

Dean began to pull back the blanket and sheets, exposing Sam's soaked night shirt. "Come on," he said, taking his brother by the shoulders and lifting him into a sitting position. "We'll try getting you into the shower."

At the suggestion, Sam seemed to gather a small amount of strength and push against Dean's supporting arms.

Dean held him firm, manoeuvring them both to the edge of the bed and looping an arm around Sam's waist to help him stand.

But Sam continued to fight. A groan escaped his lips and his hand hit Dean in the chest, levering them apart.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean said, thinking that Sam was distressed because he was disoriented. He began to haul him off the bed.

"No-" Sam's legs were weak and he could barely stand. He leaned back in the direction of the mattress, pushing away from Dean with all his strength.

The older brother held on tighter, steering them across the room.

Sam's feet dragged along the carpet as he squirmed and protested, his distress growing.

Dean hated seeing him like this. If Sam was his normal self he wouldn't let Dean near him with a ten foot pole. The kid had always been stubbornly independent, hating it whenever his big brother tried to 'mother' him and always wanting to prove he could do things on his own. _I guess we all need to accept help sometimes_, Dean thought grimly. Unfortunately, not wanting to accept help tended to run in their family. And Dean knew that he, himself, was possibly the worst at admitting he needed a hand out of the lot of them.

The motel room's bathroom was an unwelcoming little box. By the time Dean got them both inside, there was barely any room to turn around. He lowered Sam to sit on the closed toilet lid and propped him up with one hand whilst pushing aside the grotty shower curtain with the other. Sam tried to twist off the seat, but Dean's reactions were fast and he caught his brother and held him firm.

"I know you're sick, but you could give me a bit of a hand here buddy," he said, awkwardly leaning in and twisting on the shower tap.

Sam was shaking harder than he had been, his teeth banging together.

Spray from the water fell across the floor and Dean quickly adjusted the temperature, not wanting it too icy. Sam's hand had clamped onto the arm Dean was using to hold him.

"No-" Sam groaned again, his voice fracturing and breaking around the edges.

Dean pulled his arm out of Sam's weak grasp and began to peel off the younger man's sodden shirt, ignoring Sam's mounting protests.

In a burst of panic, Sam kicked at his brother and got Dean in the knee.

Dean nearly lost his balance, but composed himself before Sam could wriggle off the seat.

Sam's eyes were open now and he was blinking heavily, his gaze darting about the room.

"Just calm down, okay, you'll feel better once you're in the shower." Dean made a second attempt at removing Sam's shirt.

"_No_!"

"Trust me, Sammy."

Sam batted frantically at Dean's arms. "No, no, no-!"

Dean managed to get the shirt most of the way off, but Sam twisted violently and dove off the seat before he'd completed the task. Unfortunately, Dean had glimpsed a small amount of the bruising that surrounded Sam's cut, and had frozen at the sight of it.

Sam scrambled across the cold tiles, heading towards the door.

Dean snapped back to life and lunged for his brother, pinning him as gently as he could and jerking the shirt up and over his head.

Sam lay back, panting, as Dean's brain processed what he was seeing.

_Holy shit..._ The older brother was at a loss for words. When finally he found his tongue his tone was harsher than he'd intended. "When the _hell_ did you get this?" He was unable to tear his eyes from the angry looking cut. "I mean, Jesus, Sam, were you thinking of telling me or just covering it up? It's probably the reason you're so sick, God damn it-"

Sam was shaking, straining to keep his eyes open. His expression was a mixture of pain and exhaustion and something that looked far too much like regret for Dean's liking.

"'m sorry…"

Dean barely heard the whispered apology. He passed a hand over his head and tried to squash the pain that was beginning to throb against his mind. He wasn't angry with Sam. He couldn't be angry with Sam. He was just worried, and scared, and didn't quite know what to do.

"I- we need to get you to a hospital," he decided, speaking the thought aloud and nodding to himself, as if approving the decision.

But Sam jerked at the suggestion, shaking his head and groaning. "No… no hospitals…"

Dean had already scrambled back and turned off the shower. "I'm doing this for your own good. We need to fix this."

Sam batted Dean away again as the older tried to help him off the floor.

"_Sam_, for God's sake-"

"_They _can't fix this either!"

It was the first coherent sentence Sam had said for hours and it caught Dean off guard. He grabbed his sibling's wrists to hold him still, ready to argue further, but something snagged his attention.

Sam's chest was heaving and there was pain in his eyes that spoke of more than just sickness.

Dean ran a finger over the blisters and welts upon Sam's right wrist that he'd previously not noticed, holding on for a moment before letting Sam jerk his arm away. His thoughts were like a card tower, and they were toppling, fast. He didn't want to believe what he was seeing, and he was terrified to connect the dots.

But the evidence spoke for itself.

"Dean…" Sam whispered, his body shaking violently and sweat pouring down his cheeks like tears.

Dean's throat worked but no sound came out.

"Dean… I'm sorry."

A broken, nervous laugh fell from the older brother's lips, startling in its fragility.

Sam groaned and seemed to slip away for a moment, but managed to pull himself back and catch his breath. "Dean… Something's happening to me… I can't stop it… Something's wrong…"

Dean's own breath hitched, and his heart pounded hard and fast, threatening to break him in two. He didn't know what Sam was talking about. He didn't _want_ to know what Sam was talking about. His hands twitched and he wanted to cover his ears.

"_Dean_," Sam's voice was a desperate hiss. "We always knew this might happen…" A spasm of pain flinched across his features and he curled in on himself, clutching his injured shoulder and biting down on his lip as he cried out in agony.

Dean shook himself to his senses, his instincts screaming at him to help.

But Sam pushed him away. "_No_!"

Again Dean tried to support his brother.

This time rage flashed behind Sam's eyes and his fist clocked Dean across the jaw, sending the older man sprawling backwards. For a moment Dean lost his bearings.

Sam was rolling, trying to get to his feet. "You… need to get away from me…"

Dean sat up as Sam was staggering across the room.

The younger man lunged towards the door, but then stopped, seeming to change his mind. He shifted his momentum and fell upon his bag, tearing items from it in a frenzied manner.

Dean felt ill as he watched the scene play out. The blow to his jaw had sent his head spinning.

"Where is it?!" Sam wobbled to his feet, glaring at his brother.

Dean knew what Sam was looking for. He _knew_ Sam, and they'd been in a similar situation before. He steeled his shoulders. "I'm not telling you." He'd taken Sam's gun and had put it with his own when they'd arrived back from the cottage and Sam had climbed into bed.

Sam stumbled towards Dean's bag, cursing viciously.

Dean ran at his brother and grabbed him around the knees, hurling him backwards and onto his bed. The impact jarred them both, and Sam rolled and groaned, but Dean refused to let him go.

"Perhaps I _am_ stubborn," the older of the two stated breathlessly. "But I'm sure as hell not going to give in that easily, no matter what's going on."

Sam's back arched and he kicked and thrashed about. He gnashed his teeth and for a moment Dean saw real darkness cloud his brother's normally gentle eyes. "I could kill you…" Sam's voice was raspy, breaking apart. "_Dean_! Don't do this… Don't make me watch myself hurt you… Give me my gun… _God_… You don't understand… It _hurts_…"

Dean shook his head, aching at the pain he heard in Sam's voice. "Sorry Sammy. No."

Genuine tears began to roll down Sam's flushed cheeks. His breathing became less erratic, and his body began to relax as the fight left him.

Dean shook his head again, though this time it was more of an apology, even though he wasn't sure to whom.

"You can't fix this, Dean…"

"You don't know that." Dean's own voice was faltering.

"I'm not possessed… This is me…"

"This is not who you are, Sam."

"You keep trying to convince yourself that but you know the truth!" One last time Sam attempted to fight his brother.

Dean held him down, easily.

Sam rolled his face away, squeezing his eyes closed and sucking in short, sharp breaths.

"Where did you get the cut?" The older brother asked finally.

Sam didn't reply.

"Was it during our last job?" Dean hated to think that Sam had been hiding it for so long, but he couldn't think of any other possibilities. "Did one of the demons do something to you?"

Sam's eyes didn't open, and he was trembling again.

"Sam? _Damn it…_"

Dean shook his brother gently but Sam had slipped under the surface of consciousness again. Dean let his hand rest upon Sam's good shoulder a moment, before bringing it up to brush his burning forehead. He _could_ pile Sam into the car and rush him to the nearest hospital, but as much as he didn't want to believe everything Sam had just said, he doubted there'd be much any doctor could do. He'd seen the blackness in Sam's eyes, and he knew exactly where the blisters on Sam's wrist had come from. But Sam's skin hadn't burned when the holy water had come into contact with it earlier in the day, so surely that had to mean something.

He pushed himself up from the bed and regarded his deathly pale brother. The bruises across Sam's shoulder and chest were sickening, and Dean was happy to pull the sheet up over them. He glanced about the room, locating his car keys and swiping them from where they lay beside his bag. He'd get to the bottom of this, even if it was already scaring the shit out of him. They'd been in bad situations before, but there'd always been an explanation, and they'd always found a way out.

"Whatever you sons of bitches are trying to do with him," he growled as he headed for the door. "Whatever sick and twisted plan you have for him," he yanked the door open. "It wont work." The night air was cold against his face as he headed for his car and shoved the key into the trunk, pulling it open. He fished around until he found what he was looking for and slammed the trunk closed before charging back towards the room, a long coil of rope clutched under his arm.

Sam hadn't moved and Dean closed and bolted the door before approaching his brother.

"I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered, taking one of Sam's wrists and lifting it above the younger man's head until it touched the bed frame. "But like I said, I'm not giving up that easily. We'll fix this." He took the knife that he kept hidden under his own pillow and cut a length of rope, winding it around Sam's wrist and binding his brother as gently as he could to the bed. He felt terrible doing it, but it was for Sam's safety as much as it was for his own. "I can't help you if you're trying to knock my head off." He tied the other wrist and Sam groaned, but didn't wake. Once he was done with the wrists he began on Sam's ankles.

His jaw was still aching and his mind was hurtling through thoughts so fast that it was making him sick. He cut the last portion of rope and finished the job, covering Sam once again and making sure the ropes weren't digging in, or aggravating Sam's blistered wrist. He fell upon his bed and stared at his restrained brother. It was a nasty sight. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and bit back the urge to scream. The weight of what had just happened hadn't fully hit him yet, though already he had way too many questions, none of which had answers.

Luckily his phone erupted in a fit of music right at that very moment, flashing and buzzing as it destroyed the dreadful silence that had seized the room. Dean grabbed it and checked the display. His hands were shaking. It was Bobby.

_Thank God, _he thought, before he pressed the button to take the call.

* * *

After listening to Dean's message, Bobby had thought a lot of things. Firstly, he'd regretted having called his friend Giles to keep an eye on the boys, despite the fact that he'd done it purely out of concern for their safety and wellbeing. He'd felt bad when he'd heard how angry Dean had been, groaning at Dean's use of the term 'baby-sitter'. That hadn't been his intention. He trusted John's sons more than anyone, and he had no doubts they'd be able to handle themselves in a fight. It had just been nice to think that even though he couldn't get to them right away, he'd had someone who could check in on them and make sure they were okay. He hadn't meant any harm by it. And he hadn't expected to have to apologize. Now he just felt stupid for having contacted Giles in the first place.

The second thing that had bothered him after he'd listened to Dean's message was the fact that Sam was sick. It had caught him off guard because when he'd spoken to Dean that morning he'd assumed everything was fine, and that's why he'd brushed Ruby off and had ignored her warnings. Now her words came back to haunt him and he found himself worrying beyond reason about Sam and what could be happening to him. He'd dialled Dean's number, bracing himself mentally, preparing to explain to a probably already outraged Dean that he had reason to believe that Sam was sick because of something supernatural, and not simply because the boy was run down. He'd worried, as the phone had rung, that he wouldn't be able to find the words to explain everything.

But as Dean answered the call, Bobby realized that finding the right words was the least of his concerns.

In a rush of noise, Dean's uncharacteristically panicked voice broke through the phone in a torrent of sentences that seemed to lack definite endings. Barely pausing for breath, he filled Bobby in on the events that had recently taken place in their motel room and the startling discovery of the cut on Sam's shoulder. Bobby listened, as best he could, before cutting Dean off and ordering him to calm the hell down. He bit the bullet and told Dean that he'd known about Sam's cut, as well as where Sam had got it.

Tense silence replaced their conversation, and the older hunter waited for Dean's explosive reaction.

It was a shock when it didn't come.

Dean simply faltered, breathing heavily. "Oh...?"

Bobby gingerly rubbed his forehead, conscious of the gash that ran from left to right and the pain that was mounting in his skull.

"I, uh, how did you know?" Dean's voice was tired, scared, and frayed.

Bobby inspected his wound in his rear vision mirror. It wasn't deep. It hadn't needed sutures. "I had the pleasure of meeting Ruby. That's the girl Sam was going on about a while back, the one with the knife that's supposed to kill demons."

Dean sucked in a breath.

"She told me she helped you guys on your last job. She said she helped Sam get you out of the fire."

Dean began to argue that this was news to him.

Bobby grimaced, not surprised Sam hadn't told his brother. "She said she was worried she'd accidentally cut Sam when she'd been fighting off one of the demons. She told me Sam was sick." The older hunter drew in a deep breath. "God, Dean, this was this morning. I didn't believe her. I just wanted to shoot her. She's a demon, you know. Demons lie."

From the other end of the line Dean cursed harshly.

"I should have told you," Bobby admitted, feeling his gut twist. "But I figured she was pushing our buttons." He leaned over the passenger seat and searched his glove compartment for the knife he knew would be there.

"Did she say how to fix him?" Dean ignored Bobby's apology, his voice fiery.

Bobby located the knife and slipped the blade under the hospital band that had been wrapped around his wrist, cutting it free. "No, but by the way she spoke, I'm guessing Sam's in pretty bad shape."

"Shit, Bobby…" Dean had stopped trying to feign bravery, and Bobby heard the anger and worry loud and clear. "If Sam got cut by that blade and now he's sick, what the hell are we supposed to think?" his voice trailed off.

Bobby found his keys and shoved them into the ignition, refusing to answer the question. "I'm so sorry, Dean, I would have called sooner." The truck roared to life. "But I got set back a little. I'm on my way now though. You just sit tight. How's Sam at the moment?"

Dean hesitated before replying, "He's sleeping."

"Good. Keep him calm, and keep him comfortable."

Dean inhaled shakily. "Yeah that's easier said than done. God, you should see him."

"Ruby mentioned something about Sam having darkness within him, and that the cut would draw it out. I don't know, Dean. I hate to say it, but… be careful." Bobby steered, one handed, towards the main highway. It had begun to sprinkle and he flipped the wipers on. His head was aching and he knew he probably shouldn't be driving, but he'd lost too much time already and he wasn't sure how much more time they had.

Dean went quiet.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Bobby told him, trying not to feel unsettled by how tired the normally head-strong, confident young man sounded. "We'll find a way to fix this. We've just got to keep our cool. You'll see. Sam's going to be fine."

Dean made a noise that sounded a bit like he wanted to believe that, but couldn't.

Bobby offered a few more words of comfort, but it was hard to make them sound genuine when he was equally as troubled by this as Dean was. _It's fine. Don't panic. We'll sort this out. __I promise. _Even as Bobby ended the call he felt his confidence waver. He pounded the steering wheel with his fist. He was going to find Ruby and demand that she undo whatever the hell she'd done to Sam to bring this situation about. Then he'd possibly kill her, because he'd never be able to trust her. It was her fault they were in this freakin' mess in the fist place.

He stomped on the gas, and the truck roared through the night. He'd had a frightfully awful day, and it didn't look set to get much better any time soon. He'd woken up after his encounter with Ruby, sprawled upon the ground with blood running into his eyes and gravel on his tongue. He'd stumbled back towards his truck and had called Giles immediately, asking his old friend to keep an eye on Sam and Dean if he saw them but leaving out any details on why he was really concerned. His friend had agreed, albeit reluctantly. Bobby had then thrown his phone into the truck and had prepared to climb in when a wave of vertigo had gripped him and he'd staggered a few feet before crumpling to the ground. A good samaritan had seen him go down and had called an ambulance. The next thing he'd known, he'd woken in a hospital bed with a drip in his arm and a bandage across his forehead. The entire day had already passed by. He'd then had a massive argument with a well-meaning nurse before he'd managed to check himself out and call a cab to drive him back across town. It had taken him forever to remember where he'd parked his blasted truck. He'd pulled himself painfully into the driver's seat and had noticed his phone flashing, and that's when he'd listened to Dean's message.

_God_, he thought as he squinted through the windshield, knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. Perspiration lined his brow, stinging his gash, and whatever painkillers he'd been given were wearing off. His thoughts drifted to what Ruby had said about his relationship with the Winchester boys. She'd been right, to a certain degree. He did feel a measure of responsibility towards them, but it had nothing to do with feeling obliged to take care of them since John's death. He cared about them. He wasn't ashamed to admit it. They _were_, in a way, like the sons he'd never had. But he'd never try to take their father's place. No matter how many mistakes his old friend had made, John had tried to be the best father he could. And Bobby missed the old hunter. They'd had their differences, sure, but they'd been friends, nonetheless. And sometimes when he spoke with Sam or Dean, he saw parts of John in them and it was almost like having all three of them around again.

Bobby wasn't about to let something happen to Sam. Not today. Not ever. He almost had the gas pedal pressed to the floor, but still, he felt like he should be driving faster.

* * *

A cold breeze slipped in through the open window and danced with the charms hanging from the curtain rail. The only light in the cottage was cast by a small lamp that sat on a table beside the hearth. It was past midnight, and Giles couldn't sleep. He was sitting, almost alone, uncomfortably hunched in one of his high-backed reading chairs. In the chair beside him, the ghost of his wife shimmered like a candle flame, regarding him softly. Giles sighed, massaging his temples.

"I don't know what to do, Sandie," he admitted, turning his eyes to face the apparition. His weak eyesight prevented him from seeing her properly, but he knew she was there. He could feel her presence. "I swore I wouldn't get involved."

The woman's eyes held sympathy, and her mouth twitched but she didn't reply.

Giles didn't expect her to reply. She'd never spoken to him. She'd always simply sat and listened. Some nights he'd have lengthy conversations with her, just grateful for her company. But then there were nights, like tonight, when he wished she'd find her voice.

"God I wish you were really here," he whispered. "I miss you so much." He wanted to reach out to the space where he knew she was, but he'd tried that before, and his hand had simply passed through slightly chilled air, nothing more. Her physical presence was just a memory. Never again would he be able to lean over and touch her, or draw her close and hold her, at least not in this world.

He sighed heavily. "I think those boys of John's are in trouble," he said, his words hanging heavily in the air as he voiced his fear. "Sam's right; I am no hunter. But I do know something's going on by this lake and those two are somehow caught up in it, whether they're aware of it or not. I think Sam, especially, might be in danger." He let his eyes drop closed momentarily and shook his head. "I told Bobby I'd keep an eye on them. I didn't realize it would come to this." He stared hard at his silent companion.

Gently, she stared back.

"Do you think I'm an old fool?" Giles' foggy eyes were glassy and sad. "I can only imagine what you'd say if you were alive today. You'd tell me to quit running away. 'Be a man', you'd probably say. 'Go do something about it and stop wasting time.' But I'm not like you, Sandie. I never have been. That's why it's so damn hard." He swallowed roughly. "You were always good with this sort of thing. I'm afraid to get too close."

The breeze picked up and some of the charms clinked together like bells. Giles shivered involuntarily, but pulled himself straighter in his seat.

"People have died," he told the ghost brokenly. His honesty was so painful it burned his throat. "I don't exactly know how to stop it, but if I don't do something soon, it's never going to end." His thoughts were crashing against one another, but he pushed them aside. "I've had my suspicions for a couple of years now, about that boy who works in the bar. I'm sure you think I'm an idiot for being such a coward and not confronting him, but suspicions aren't solid fact. What if I'm wrong and he doesn't have anything to do with this, after all?"

He chewed over the heavy silence that fell upon them, listening to the sounds of the cottage and of the night that stretched beyond its walls.

_Sometimes our suspicions are the voice of our instincts._

The thought came out of nowhere.

Giles blinked at the space where he knew his wife was sitting, feeling a small weight lifted from his stomach as another, heavier one dropped in its place.

Of course he had to do something. It would be shameful not to. He couldn't continue turning a blind eye. He'd been doing that for way too long now.

"I'll probably regret this, wont I," he said, leaning forward and staring grimly at the floor.

His wife regarded him warmly. Almost imperceptibly, a look of approval flickered across her features.

* * *

Sam wasn't just in darkness; he _was_ darkness. The space he found himself in was undefined. It was a room, but it had no walls. It was neither hot, nor cold, and he existed within it, able to look down and see his arms and legs and reach a hand up to touch his face; but he wasn't _really_ there. His conscience was there, trapped like a fly under a glass jar. Dimly he was aware of the fact that somewhere, far away, his real body continued to live, sprawled out on a bed in a motel room with Dean probably sitting by his side. He tried to move his hand, but it was like swimming through thick water. Finally he brought it up so that he could see it properly. He was transparent, and fading. His fingertips had all but disappeared.

In was a strange place, one in which Sam could feel no pain. But he could feel fear, and his fear was something that seemed to be seeping through the air and moving in ghostly currents all around him, chilling the very core of his being. He was aware of what was happening to him, but he lacked the strength to do anything about it. He was like a balloon on a windy day, attached to a fraying piece of string; soon enough, the string would snap, and he'd be blown away.

He was terrified, yet alongside his terror there existed a measure of relief. He preferred being unconscious, because when he wasn't he was filled with such rage and fire that it threatened to tear his body apart, and thoughts would scream through his head, telling him to do things that didn't make sense; like hurting his brother. He hated being conscious, because it meant seeing Dean's face. Such a huge part of him wanted to tear his brother apart, but there was still a piece that remained as it had been, and that piece of him was devastated by the worry and fear he saw etched across his sibling's features. Dean wanted to fix things, but Sam was beginning to think that perhaps this was something they couldn't fix. _I'm a monster,_ his mind screamed. _He should be afraid of me._

Despair coursed through him, throwing his mind into even more turmoil. Briefly he was sucked back to reality and his previously forgotten pain returned to hit him full-force. His body was on fire, burning from the inside out. He thrashed about, unable to control his arms or legs, straining against whatever bonds held him in place. He caught a glimpse of Dean's grim expression as his sibling sat on the opposite bed, hunched over with his elbows resting upon his knees and a hand over his mouth. There was hurt in Dean's eyes, and a small part of Sam wanted to apologize and beg his brother's forgiveness, but darkness held him back. He felt his lips curl into a snarl and laughter broke through him.

"Smart move, big brother," he rasped, pulling against his restraints. "If I were you, I wouldn't trust me either."

Dean's shoulders stiffened and his gaze narrowed, but he didn't reply.

Sam laughed some more, but then his laughter gave way to fits of coughing and his back arched as spasms tore up his lungs. The energy he'd just tapped into began to rush out of him, and he felt himself fading again. Momentarily, he gained the upper hand over the war raging within him and sought his brother's eyes. "Dean…" he breathed in a voice so unlike the one that had just come out of him. There was blood in his mouth, and his tongue was too thick. He called his brother's name again.

Dean must have noticed the change in Sam because he moved forward and placed a hand on the younger man's arm, squeezing it gently. There were tears in his eyes but the set of his jaw revealed his determination not to let them fall. "Just hang in there," he encouraged. "Bobby's on his way. We're gonna sort this out."

Sam groaned. He wanted to believe that. He opened his mouth to try to tell Dean that he wanted to believe it, but his words were lost. His voice was lost. His eyes sagged closed and he felt himself falling.

Dean's hand on his arm was a fading comfort, until it too disappeared. Sam found himself back in the same empty space he'd been in previously. He spun around, fighting desperately against the thick air surrounding him. He caught sight of his arms; they'd vanished up to his elbows.

Just before he'd fallen away, he'd felt again like someone was watching him.

* * *

In the chilled silence of the night surrounding Sam and Dean's motel room, a young man slipped from the shadows of the motel car park and headed back across the road to the bar, where he climbed into an old Ford truck and sat momentarily, blinking through the windshield. His face was deathly pale and every now and then he cast a nervous look over his shoulder or into the rear view mirror, as if he half expected someone to leap out at him and he was scared of being caught by surprise. He licked his lips shakily, fumbling with a bunch of keys and slipping one into the ignition, coaxing the truck to life. The engine's roar broke the quiet of the evening, and he jerked and crunched gears before finding the right one and easing the vehicle out onto the road. He sped away from the bar, heading back towards town.

Once he was out of sight, a woman with blond hair stepped from the same shadows, glancing briefly at the room he'd been watching before narrowing her eyes in the direction in which the man had disappeared, and staring after him for a long time.

* * *

_tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello :) If you've got this far, thanks for reading! Thanks as well to everyone who's dropped in a review! Language warning for this chapter okay. Have a great week :)_

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Dean drew back the curtains and peered out the window for the nth time. Rain came down in angry sheets, turning the car park into a giant pool of mud and dripping from the motel's gutters in a cacophony of sound. It was creeping up on nine o'clock but the morning was dark and the sun had been blotted out by heavy clouds and mist. It felt a lot earlier than it actually was, and Dean was growing anxious because they were out of painkillers and Bobby still hadn't arrived. He let the curtains drop back into place, turning and crossing room to where his brother still lay, bound to the bed.

"Sammy?" He said, gingerly touching one of Sam's cheeks and cringing as it scorched his fingertips.

Sam shook violently beneath the touch, his eyes opening to slits.

Dean had tried everything he could to get Sam's temperature down, but still nothing had worked. He bit his lip. At least the drugs had seemed to take some of the pain away. It was a small mercy. "Sam I'm gonna to have to duck out for a second."

Sam groaned, but whether he registered what Dean was saying was hard to tell.

"It's okay. I'll be back in a moment." Dean desperately didn't want to leave his brother, but felt he had little choice.

He rose from Sam's bedside, rubbing at his stinging eyes. The town centre was barely a couple of miles away. He figured he could make it there and back within ten minutes.

He took his cell from his pillow and dialled Sam's number. When Sam's phone rang he fished it from the pocket of his brother's jeans from the day before and picked up the call. Sam's phone he placed on the bedside table, his own in his pocket. He'd already salted the doors and windows and had pulled Sam's bed away from the wall, pouring a circle around it as well. He'd even drawn protective sigils over the carpet.

"I've got my phone, Sam," he explained. "I'll have it to my ear the whole time so I'll be able to hear you if you need me." He leaned over his brother, fixing the blankets. Sam whimpered slightly. "Just sit tight. Bobby'll be here any minute." He brushed at Sam's sweaty hair, attempting to push it back into place. When it wouldn't co-operate he gave up, straightening and walking across the room to the door.

Once he was there he glanced back briefly. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion and his head pounded, but sleep was last on his list of priorities. He stared at his brother, wondering just how he'd forgive himself for tying Sam to a bed. _It's for his own good_, he told himself again, tearing his gaze away and turning the door handle. Spray from the rain kissed his cheeks as he stepped into the miserable morning. He held the phone to his ear and closed the door.

Four sets of eyes were watching him leave. But Dean didn't know this as he rushed to his car.

* * *

Ruby had known where to find the brothers. It hadn't been hard to track them down. She'd arrived at the motel late the night before, after Sam and Dean had returned from the cottage, concealing herself in shadows around the corner of the building and planning a way to get into the room to talk to Dean without him trying to kill her. She wasn't afraid of the older brother. He was arrogant and head-strong, but she was confident she could take him on in a fight, if it came to that. She was hoping it wouldn't come to that. Whether Dean realized it or not, he needed her as much as she needed him right now.

Now it was morning and she watched Matt busying himself outside the bar. She'd noticed him the night before, and had marked the way he'd shown an unsettling interest in the motel; the part Sam and Dean were staying in, especially. She'd resolved to stand guard outside, refraining from emerging from the shadows even when Dean had rushed out to his car to grab a coil of rope. From where she stood, she had a good view of both the room and the bar. Matt had left eventually, but had returned at about seven thirty this morning. He'd started working outside, repairing a fence beside the bar's car park and trying to hide the fact that he was watching the boys' room. Ruby was sharp, and his behaviour didn't escape her attention. She had no idea who he was, but she was almost sure he was up to no good.

The sound of a door closing met her ears. She redirected her eyes to the motel room in time to see Dean dashing through the rain towards his car. The engine roared and Ruby watched as he backed the Impala through gathering puddles and skidded out onto the road. Matt lifted his eyes as well, staring after the car as it disappeared towards town. Sam was now alone in the room, and Ruby didn't like the way Matt was looking as though he'd been waiting for this moment the whole time. Her hand fell upon the hilt of her knife and she made a move to step from her hiding place, deciding it was time to confront him. But a sound from behind her stopped her in her tracks.

She spun around. Her eyes locked with those of a man she'd never seen before. His eyes were black, like ink. He held a bat in his hands.

She stumbled back a step, slightly surprised that he'd managed to creep up on her.

"Well, well, well," the demon sneered. "We meet again."

Ruby had already drawn her knife and was holding it steady.

"Now that _is_ an interesting weapon you have there," it commented hungrily, eyeing the blade. "I'd like to know where you got it. You sure as hell did some damage to my friends the other night when you showed up to defend little Sammy."

Her eyes narrowed, her mind working, and she tightened her grip on the knife.

A flicker of amusement passed over the demon's face. "A knife that _kills_ demons," it mused. Its tone was mocking and its posture far too calm. "You must feel confident walking into a fight with that in your hand."

Ruby didn't reply. Her heart banged painfully against her ribcage.

The creature stepped closer. "There's just one problem, sweetheart," it sneered, pressing her backwards.

Ruby's throat went dry.

"It doesn't seem to work on me."

She swung the blade.

But the demon brought its bat up and countered her move by striking her wrist and sending the knife clattering across the ground, grabbing her forearm and yanking her into a stiff embrace.

"I don't understand," it hissed, its breath rancid, "why you continue to protect him, when you know there's no way he, or you, can win this fight."

She struggled frantically.

The creature laughed, sickeningly. "Perhaps you'll change your mind," it murmured, words burning her ear. "I like to think we could be allies. That was a valiant performance the other night. I could use someone like you."

Ruby wanted to spit in its face, but its claw-like fingers wrapped around her throat and pinned her to the wall, closing off her airway. She tried to kick at its legs but it had her pinned too tightly and she couldn't move. It was the demon she'd stabbed in the neck a few nights ago, but how it'd survived, she had no idea. It was strong; somehow stronger than the others. Her eyes met its.

Dark orbs boiled.

She choked, unable to draw breath.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson," it hissed. "Little girls like you need to learn lessons." Its grip tightened. "This is bigger than you think. You should seriously reconsider whose side you're on."

Ruby's vision began to swim.

"Because at the moment, the odds are against you." It snapped her head back against the wall until she could no longer see, or hear, or feel.

Everything went black.

Her body slumped to the ground, and the demon regarded her a moment, before stalking off and collecting her knife along the way.

* * *

Matt's heart was pounding so fast he was having trouble breathing. His hands shook as he leaned on the shovel he'd been using to dig a ditch along one side of the bar's car park, and he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, attempting to pull himself together and haul his raging thoughts into line. He needed to concentrate if he was going to do what he'd been planning. He needed a clear head and all the strength he could muster. Neither of those things seemed to be happening for him this morning. He'd barely slept a wink during the night, and hadn't eaten since the day before. Such was the weight of his anxiety. Now, as he watched Dean's car pull away from the motel in a hiss of tyres on wet asphalt, he realized if he didn't act now, he may lose his only chance to end the nightmare he'd been living for the past sixteen years.

Laura, the bar's owner, had called him a saint when he'd offered to come in on his day off to fix up all the unfinished jobs around the place. She was a sweet lady, always looking out for him. She'd been kind enough to give him the position in the first place, despite the fact that he'd had no previous experience. Matt almost felt guilty that he wasn't going to get all the jobs done today. Perhaps he could come back later, once he'd taken care of his business. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a slight grin at the thought of his 'business' being over. _It just has to work_, he told himself, over and over. _It has to work, it has to work…_ Sam was the closest in age and height and hair colour out of the lot of them. None of the other victims had been similar enough to Matt to make it work. His brother, James, had kept coming back each year because none of them had been right. And now James wasn't going away, because he'd tried to take Sam but somehow Sam had escaped. If Matt took Sam to his brother, perhaps James would be happy and leave for good. And if James went away for good then there'd be no more accidents on that damned road, and everyone would be happy.

Matt raised his eyes and stared across at the motel. He liked Sam and he regretted having to do this, but he couldn't be haunted by his older brother anymore. Even when they were kids, his sibling had always wanted to control things. He'd always tried to make all Matt's decisions, and had expected his orders to be followed unquestionably. It had been James' idea to grab their father around the throat while they were driving that day, sixteen years ago. It had been James who'd refused to let the old man go, even as their car had come skidding off the road and had cannoned into the lake. James had _expected_ Matt to stand by him. But what could Matt have done? The lake water had been freezing and his older brother had been pinned in his seat as the car went under. Matt had managed to escape through a window, but hadn't been able to free his brother. Now James' ghost refused to give him peace, always accusing him of being disloyal.

Matt rubbed the rain out of his burning eyes. He wasn't _disloyal_. He'd never meant to hurt his brother. Their father had been a bastard, and had taken his temper out on both boys in horrendous ways. It had been a relief when he'd died. Matt had never asked James to make such a sacrifice. James _couldn't_ blame him for something he'd never asked for.

Matt cast the shovel aside. It hit the wet ground with a clank and a splash. He'd moved back to this God damned town to find some closure and to work through the many psychological issues that had spawned from the accident. Even when he'd lived away James had haunted him. Matt had hoped that by returning to this place where it had all started, his brother might leave him alone.

But it hadn't worked. James had continued to visit him every year, on the same day their accident had taken place, and people continued to die on that stupid bend in the road by the lake. _It ends today_, he told himself, brushing his hands on his trousers and running through his plan of action once more. _It ends right now_.

He'd already packed everything he needed into a bag that was sitting in his truck. All he had to do was retrieve it. Then he'd make his way across the road to the motel to get Sam, and steal one of the cars sitting in the motel car park. He knew Sam was unwell; he'd seen Dean having to support the younger man as the two of them had stumbled into their room the night before. _It'll be a piece of cake_, he told himself, feigning confidence. He bit his lip and swallowed a large lump of fear as he jogged through the mud in the direction of his truck. _Piece of cake_…

He yanked open the door, leaning into the cabin and pulling a bag from the seat. He straightened and slammed the door closed again, removing a pistol from one of the bag's pouches and preparing to head across the road. A sudden obstacle caught his left foot, tripping him up and sending him face-first into the ground. He choked on mud and on the breath that had been caught in his lungs when he'd been taken by surprise, clumsily rolling to his feet and whirling to see what had tripped him.

Giles stood with his staff extended, a grim expression upon his face. "Where do you think you're going, young Matt?" The staff end came to rest upon Matt's heaving chest. "Or should I say, young _Craig_?"

Matt was so shocked that he hesitated a moment before batting the staff away. "I don't know what you're talking about, you crazy old man. Leave me the hell alone."

But Giles just grinned, knowingly. "I'm not as crazy as you think, my boy. I know who you are, and I know you're involved with what's been going on by the lake near my house. I may be half blind, but I'm not stupid." The charms on his wrists rattled as he prodded his staff in Matt's direction. "There's something in that lake, isn't there? The deaths all started with your father and brother."

Matt's palms began to sweat, and he curled his hands into fists. This conversation was infuriatingly inconvenient. "You've got the wrong guy," he growled, swatting at the staff again and growing more annoyed when Giles flicked it back to bounce off his shoulder.

"No, no…" Giles shook his head slowly, insistently. "I don't think I do. You may have everybody else fooled, but you can't fool me. You're the little boy I found wandering along the road all those years ago, dripping wet and terrified. You were wrong to think that changing your name would change who you are."

Matt was surprised at how much the strange old man seemed to know, but didn't want to take off his game face just yet. _Nobody_ knew the truth about him. This was seriously fragile ground they were walking. The old man could ruin everything. He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. "You believe what you like," he hissed. "But don't stand here all day telling me about your delusions. I have work to do."

Giles' expression turned stone cold. "Does your work involve a weapon?"

Matt fingered the gun. _Why_ couldn't the old man just take a hint and rack the hell off? "That's none of your damned business. Get out of my way."

But Giles blocked Matt's path with his staff. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

Matt bit back the urge to curse viciously. He knocked the staff, again and again, but Giles was stronger than he appeared and continued to find new ways to jab it at him.

"In each accident," Giles stated, not even breathless. "There have been a couple of similarities I've noticed." His steely gaze met Matt's and he pinned the younger man with a very hard stare. "One is that they've taken place on the exact same day your father and brother died, on the exact same stretch of road, and two is that out of all the victims, at least one has been male, approximately twenty-four years old. Now that's a bit more than mere coincidence, wouldn't you say? And don't say you have no idea what I'm going on about, because by God, I know you do."

Of course Matt knew what he was talking about. "You have far too much spare time on your hands," he replied, finding his thoughts leaning towards how quickly he might be able to put a bullet in Giles' head. "They're interesting facts, and you've obviously thought a lot about it. But it has nothing to do with me."

Giles almost laughed. "The tremble in your tone takes away any sincerity, my boy. Why don't you drop the charade and tell me exactly what you're up to."

"Why don't you stop being such an asshole? I'm through with this conversation."

But Giles wasn't done. He barrelled on with the accusations. "Something went wrong, didn't it?"

God, Matt was so _tired_ of people accusing him of things, regardless of whether he was guilty or not. He didn't want to hear this.

"Two days ago a car came off the road, but both occupants survived." Giles was looking awfully sure of himself. "At least one of them wasn't supposed to survive, was he? I bet that threw a spanner in the works."

Matt began to make a strange sound in his throat. The old man had seriously crossed the line.

"That person was Sam, wasn't it? The guy you met in the bar the other night. The same guy who's staying with his brother-" Giles gestured at the motel. "- in that room you've been watching over there. Now why would you be watching him?" The staff end came into sharp contact with Matt's chest. "Are you angry that he escaped the fate you had prepared for him? Is that it? Are you planning on rewriting history and taking him out with that weapon you have there?" Again the staff struck Matt's chest.

Matt exploded. "You _bastard_," he spat, grabbing the staff and trying to shake it free of Giles' grip. "You have _no_ fucking idea what you're fucking talking about. It wasn't me, okay? It's _never_ been me! I'm not the one behind all this-"

"But you know who is," Giles countered, refusing to let go of his stick.

Matt sucked in a sharp breath. "_No_. I _don't_." His words shook noticeably. He dropped the staff and grabbed his pistol with both hands, preparing to shoot Giles at close range.

But Giles was fast, and flicked the gun right out of Matt's grasp.

Matt dived, but Giles used his staff as a hockey stick and sent the weapon spinning through mud and puddles, before cracking it down upon Matt's back.

Matt took the blow, but rolled away from the next one. He'd give the old man a run for his money, if that's what this has come down to. He was wasting time. He dodged another blow and managed to get a foot into Giles' stomach. He wrestled for the staff, scratching and grabbing at Giles' wrists, crying out a jumbled string of curses.

Finally, Giles slipped up and made a mistake. A fraction of a second was all it took and Matt was upon him, bringing his fist down and across the old man's face like he could push it through the ground if he really tried. Even when the old man lost consciousness, Matt continued fighting. He was tired of having to answer to people. He didn't _want_ to have to answer to people anymore. His breath was barely making it into and out of his lungs as he eventually slowed down his punches.

Blood was spattered across Giles' face. His staff lay in the mud beside him. Matt staggered to his feet and kicked the staff, hating the way it reminded him of the piece of wood his father had used on occasion to beat him or James. His vision swam, and he doubled over, catching his breath. He'd wasted time. The clock was ticking. He had to hurry.

Without another thought, he scooped up his gun and bag, and ran across the road to the motel.

* * *

Sam's unconscious form had faded significantly. His arms were missing, and his legs had vanished up to his knees. He could feel nothing in the space where they'd been; not even ghosts of his limbs like some amputees claimed to be able to feel. He was slowly dissolving, though into what, it was still unclear. _Darkness, perhaps_, he pondered absently. With each passing second, his mind became more and more undone. Constructing thoughts was becoming more and more difficult, and his memories resembled incomplete jigsaw puzzles. _Not long, and there'll be nothing left_, he realized sadly. But then he thought about all the painful things that had happened during his lifetime, and decided that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to be free of them after all. The only thing he'd miss would be his brother. Dean was the one thing he had left that he truly cared about. Everything else was already gone.

Despite Dean urging him to stay awake, Sam had tried as best he could to remain unconscious. His physical body was being ravaged by rage and fire, and it wasn't a pleasant state to wake into. He still wanted to smite his brother, and to do some serious damage to anyone or anything, so it was a good thing Dean had tied him to the bed. He'd meant it when he'd labelled it a 'smart move', despite how nasty he knew his tone had sounded at the time. If their positions were reversed, he'd have done exactly the same thing. He just wished he could tell Dean that it was okay and that he understood why it was necessary.

Now the room was quiet, and Sam was aware that he was alone. Whether it was morning, or night, he couldn't be sure. He wobbled to the surface of consciousness and hovered there a moment, braced for the wall of pain that inevitably came his way whenever he woke. Fire crackled through his entire body, searing his insides and choking him with its invisible smoke. His watery eyes darted frantically about the room, confirming Dean's absence. He bit his lip, drawing blood, and a scream threatened to tear forth from his throat.

There was a sound at the front door, and Sam realized somebody was there. Someone was at the door and they were breaking inside. They were coming inside, but they sure as hell weren't Dean. Sam strained against his bonds as the front door opened, his eyes jumping down over his chest and bound ankles to settle shakily upon a figure entering the room. _Not Dean_, his jumbled mind broadcast, over and over. Whoever it was, it _wasn't_ Dean. He cried out in agony, thoughts screaming. There was blood on his tongue and his lips as he locked eyes with the stranger.

_Not a stranger_, he realized suddenly.

Matt came closer, a frightening expression painted across his features as he eyed Sam's bonds, a shiny gun in his hand.

Sam wanted that gun. He choked and made a sound that was far from human, tears falling down his cheeks from his stinging eyes as he all but broke his wrists, pulling against his ropes.

Matt jerked his head, as if his concentration had wandered and he'd had to slap it back into line.

_Not Dean, but I'll still kill you_, Sam resolved, thrashing about upon the bed.

Matt ignored him, hesitantly stepping closer with the weapon raised to deliver a blow to Sam's head. "I'm sorry, Sam," he stated bluntly. "But you need to come with me now."

Sam's fingers curled with desire to tear Matt's throat out. But the gun came down with a crack and Sam was sent tumbling back into darkness at terrifying speed.

* * *

Slowly, Giles opened his eyes. Everything spun. Everything hurt. He was lying on his side, cheek pressed into the mud. He could taste blood on his tongue, and he was dripping wet. Unsteadily he pushed himself to his elbows, trying to get his bearings. He was in a car park. He realized that he was outside the bar. Everything suddenly rushed back to him and he pulled himself up straighter, groaning at the way his back protested and looking for his staff. He found it a few feet away, covered in mud and blood. His blood, he figured, tracing a finger over his broken face. His breath was coming in short gasps and he found it hard to stay upright. There was no sign of Matt, but how long he'd been out he couldn't be sure. He pulled himself along the ground, unable to stand. If he could have, he would have launched himself across the road to the motel to make sure Sam was okay. But his body wouldn't co-operate. _I'm too old for this_, his mind hissed as he wobbled and hit the dirt again. He squeezed his eyes closed, running his tongue over shaking lips. When he re-opened his eyes, his fingers touched something lying in the mud a few inches away from his face.

The charms on his wrists had all come from his wife. She'd given them to him, explaining what each one was, requesting he wear them at all times because they'd keep him safe. _Especially the one with the red beads_, she'd told him, tying it to his wrist. He'd pitched a small argument, but she'd refused to listen. _Promise me you'll wear them_, she'd pleaded, not letting up until he'd agreed to comply. He'd looked into her eyes and had seen the sincerity there, realizing how important it was to her that he did this one thing she asked. He'd agreed to wear them, though he didn't really believe they were as important as she said. Once she was gone, however, his view had changed and he'd wore them every day just to have something more to remember her by.

Now, the charm with the red beads lay in the mud like a broken memory. He stared at it a moment, blinking rain from his eyes and trying to focus, listening as fat drops hit the puddles all around him. He extended a shaky hand, wanting to reach it. A thick-soled boot pinned his wrist to the ground.

Giles re-directed his blurry gaze to the figure looming above him.

The man bared his teeth, reaching down to pick the charm from the mud. He hurled it across the car park.

Giles' throat was dry, and his voice refused to work. He was cold all over.

"I apologize, old man," the stranger said, squatting down. "But I need to borrow you." His voice was sickening

Giles tried to roll away, but the man grabbed him roughly around the throat.

There was nothing Giles could do to fight, and the man leaned closer.

"I'm getting bored, sitting on the side-lines." The man's eyes turned black. "Things are just getting interesting, and I don't want to miss all the fun."

Giles felt as though he was drowning. Without warning, his soul was torn, kicking and screaming into darkness.

The stranger just grinned. "It's time to play."

* * *

To say the Impala screamed into the motel's car park would be an understatement. Dean barely touched the brakes as he flew off the road and skidded to a halt outside his and Sam's room. He was out of the vehicle before it had even stopped moving, and the car jerked and stalled as he stumbled through puddles, hurling himself, gun drawn, into the empty room. He scanned it thoroughly before bursting outside again. His mind was reeling and he could barely breathe. Someone had _taken _Sam. He couldn't believethis was happening. He clutched at his stomach, about to be sick. He'd been leaving the drug store when he'd heard a stranger's voice over his cell, and Sam's agonized cry. He'd yelled down the phone for his brother but had been greeted by nothing but silence in return. He'd floored it, desperate to get to the room. But he'd been too late. God, he should never have left in the first place. He gripped the sides of his head, spinning in a wide circle, unable to catch his breath.

"Oh God," he breathed. "Oh God…"

The salt across the door had been broken. His attempts to protect his brother had failed.

You_ should have been here to protect him_! His mind screamed, the weight of his guilt tearing him apart.

He fumbled with his cell, wondering whether to call Bobby, whether to try to go after Sam. He seemed to have momentarily forgotten how to do either of those things. _For God's sake, get a grip_, he thought, wavering before turning towards the room and jogging inside again.

There was a girl with blonde hair standing just inside the doorway.

Dean stumbled, startled, and arched his gun up to aim directly between her eyes. His grip trembled as he focused on her face. He'd never seen her before. But she was here, and Sam wasn't. That had to mean something.

She stepped closer.

He snapped the end of his gun against her skull and barreled her into the nearest wall.

"Dean," she said calmly, wincing only slightly as he pushed the weapon hard against her skin.

His finger tightened on the trigger. He had no idea how she knew his name. "I want to know who the hell you are," he demanded roughly. "And what the _hell_ you've done with my brother. And if you don't start talking by the time I finish this sentence, so help me, I'll _end_ you."

* * *

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello to those of you still reading! Sorry that a return to full-time work has meant less time for writing, but there's only one or two more chapters to go so I'll try and get them done as soon as I can. Thanks again for your lovely comments. Even if you don't like the story, I'd still love to hear from you :) Ta_

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Dean grabbed the girl by the shoulders and rattled her against the wall. In any other situation he might have been gentler, but not today. His brother was missing. He needed some freakin' answers. His chest was aching purely from the effort of breathing and his vision had constricted into a narrow tunnel, black around the edges. "Tell me where the hell he is!" He demanded again, his voice booming.

But his aggression had little to no effect on her, and she swallowed roughly. "Dean, listen to me," she said, her voice unnervingly firm. "We don't have time for this. Sam's in trouble."

Dean's rage exploded within him, pushing his words up and out of his mouth. "You're the one who'll be in trouble if you don't tell me what you've done with him!"

A sudden darkness clouded her eyes. "I haven't _done_ anything you moron, I'm trying to help you."

Dean's grip faltered and his knuckles turned white against her jacket. The realization of who she was struck him like an unexpected blow to the gut. "_Ruby_…" A low growl began deep in his throat and rose until it was bordering on a scream, tearing from his lips. Without thinking he ripped her from the wall and spun around, flinging her across the room with frightening force.

Any normal person would have landed in a heap, arms and legs flailing. But she wasn't normal. She landed like a cat, composing herself fluidly, and squared her shoulders to stare at him.

Dean knew a gun wouldn't be enough to take her out, but he figured he'd tear her apart by brute force if it came down to it.

"I don't want to hurt you," she told him.

_God_, _she was good_. There was something in her tone that could almost pass as honesty. Dean wasn't about to be fooled by it. He shook his head defiantly. "Yeah, well, I _want_ to hurt you."

Her stare intensified.

He quickly began to calculate how best to run at her so that he could hurl her through the window. He wasn't about to show her the same grace his brother had offered. Unlike Sam, he didn't have any time to listen to words from a demon. Demons lied. They were all the same.

"I can help you find Sam." Her dark eyes never left him.

"I don't want your help." He threw as much venom as possible into his words.

"Then you're a fool," she stated, her game face cracking for the first time and a trace of fear coiling its way into her tone. "Your brother will die."

"You're only concerned because then you and your kind wont be able to use him for whatever the hell you're planning," Dean spat back. "I ain't buying your bullshit."

A wave of frustration washed over her features. "I don't want to use him for anything. I'm trying to he-"

"Help us?" Dean's expression hardened. "Honestly, you think I'm that stupid? Why the _hell_ would you want to help us? You're a fucking _demon_. Go look in the God damned mirror."

She flinched, slightly. "There's more to this than you realize, Dean."

Dean advanced threateningly, but she matched his movements in the opposite direction, her stance guarded.

"You're right, there are those who wish to use your brother," she told him. "But on the other hand, there are those who see him as a threat and want him eliminated."

His eyes narrowed.

"Me, I don't take sides." She paused and stared hard into his eyes. "I'm not like the others."

Dean shook his head, irate and unconvinced.

"I don't want Sam to die," she continued, her voice disturbingly raw and honest. "I have my reasons for wanting to make sure he stays alive."

Dean flexed his muscles and clenched his fists.

"I know Sam's sick," she said. "I know why he's sick. I may even be able to help him, but I need _your_ help." Her eyes returned to their normal colour and there was pleading in them.

_This has to be a first_, Dean thought bitterly. Through clenched teeth he hissed, "Since when do demons ask for help?"

She didn't reply. Her throat worked as if she was searching for the right words, but couldn't find them. Eventually she said, "I'm asking for you to trust me."

Dean's expression remained cold. "That's a hell of a request."

"Sam's been taken. I can tell you that it wasn't by a demon."

Dean tilted his head slightly. He was itching to throw her through the window. He bit his lip painfully.

"There was a guy, across the road," she explained. "He was watching your room last night, and again this morning. I saw him load Sam into a car and speed off in the opposite direction to the town."

Dean watched her face, but if she was lying, he couldn't tell.

"I would have stopped him, but I was too slow." She shook her head, and for the first time Dean noticed a hint of pain lining her features. "I was attacked, by another demon," she admitted. "I don't know where he went, but he took my knife, and I think he wanted your brother."

Dean swallowed roughly.

"He didn't take Sam, though. The other guy did."

_That would explain how he got into the room so easily, if he wasn't a demon_. Dean's mind was spinning. He didn't want to believe her. If anything, he wanted to blame her. But if what she was saying was true…

"Dean, please. Just think outside the square for a moment. I could recognize the car if we saw it. Let me help you find Sam."

Dean didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit. Her eyes were boring into his and precious seconds were ticking by. _Son of a bitch_… He wanted to pound the life out of something. He didn't want her help. _This feels like a trap_.

"You'll help me find my brother?" He was breathing jaggedly and trying to keep his voice steady. "You'll help me find him, and not ask for anything in return?"

She straightened her shoulders, nodding slowly.

_God, this is a mistake, a mistake, a mistake_. Dean had to force himself to nod as well. _You fool_, his mind hissed. Something cold settled in his stomach. "We're not done, you and I," he growled. "As soon as we get Sam back, we'll pick this up."

Her expression went icy. She said nothing, though her eyes glistened threateningly. _Touch me, and I'll hurt you_, they said.

Dean clutched his weapon and held her gaze. A moment passed, before he broke away abruptly and stepped towards the door. His panic hadn't disappeared; it had simply become anger. He'd use it, if he had to, to do some serious damage to whoever the hell had taken his brother, and possibly later to Ruby and whatever other demon she claimed was tailing them, just to prove a point.

He wasn't going to be fucked over. Not by demons, not by humans, not by anything that was living or dead. As far as he was concerned, he still had one job, and that was to look out for Sam. If anything had hurt his brother, he would destroy them. He would tear them apart, bit by bit, until there was nothing left.

_And if you cross me_, he thought as he charged out the door with Ruby close on his heels. _You'll be dead before you know what's hit you_.

She didn't say anything.

They hurled themselves into the car and Dean noticed her breathing was shaky and her posture stiff. He glared at her a moment, before turning the key.

She didn't return the glare, just set her jaw. Briefly, her eyes flicked out the window and she frowned. "Drive," she said after a moment, her voice like ice.

But Dean's foot had already stomped on the gas and the tyres spun on wet gravel. He didn't need to be told. They shot like a bullet from the car park and out onto the road, fishtailing slightly as they went.

* * *

In Sam's dark, unconscious place, he was fading faster than he could construct coherent thoughts. He had very little sense of his body, and when he looked down all he could make out were the tops of his thighs. Beyond them, there was nothing. He was surrounded by darkness, and a silence that was slowly being permeated by distant hisses and whispers, like the sounds of tearing metal or wind rushing through cracks between rocks. The atmosphere, whatever it was he was breathing, seemed to be developing a life of its own as it writhed about him. When he couldn't see it moving, he could certainly feel it. It was cold, chillingly damp, and seemed to leech the life from his bones. It called to him, and, absently, he was beginning to wonder whether he shouldn't be calling back.

Despite the temptation to give in, however, he was aware that something was wrong. Beyond all this, beyond what was happening within him, he knew that something wasn't right in the real world. He desperately clutched and pulled at his thoughts, trying to accumulate enough strength to wake. He'd been in the motel room, and Matt had turned up with a weapon and a strange glint in his eye. He'd said something about Sam going with him, but to where, Sam couldn't be sure. All he knew was that he was in some sort of trouble, and if he was in trouble, there was a very real possibility that Dean was in trouble too. And that wasn't acceptable.

He felt rage. He felt frustration rushing at him in a great wave. It was the first real burst of emotion he'd felt in his unconscious state and it blasted his mind. It travelled through him like light through glass, hurling him back to reality and flinging his eyes open like shutters on a window. He gasped, vision swimming. His head spun and he struggled to get his bearings. He was sitting upright, no longer tied to his bed. There was rope around his chest and waist, restraining him, digging into his ribs and shoulders and pinning him against whatever he was seated upon. Fire came next, blooming within him and sparking out to his fingertips and toes. It was agonizing. He wanted to scream. Only there was a gag around his mouth and he couldn't work his jaw.

Matt was there, beside him, doing something with a separate length of rope. Sam's muffled noises must have caught his attention because he looked up briefly from his task and held Sam's gaze for a fraction of a moment. His hands were shaking, and he tied one end of the rope to what Sam finally registered was a steering wheel. Sam's eyes darted frantically about the cabin of the unfamiliar vehicle, seeking some explanation for why he was being held captive within it. He tried to kick at the floor, bend his knees to get his legs up so that he could swivel around and boot Matt in the face. But his ankles had been bound and the rope somehow tied to the bottom of his chair, preventing him from moving no matter which way he twisted or how hard he tried. He wanted to be _out_ of these fucking ropes. He wanted to know _why_ the hell he was in a car. He wanted to know _what_ Matt had done to his brother. He wanted to _hurt_ something, _right_ now. _God damn it son of a bitch I'll kill you!_

His breathing was painfully erratic, pulling stinging tears to his eyes. He glared at the top of Matt's head, and then cast his eyes forward to stare through the car's windscreen. Fog rolled over a strangely familiar lake, but Sam's thoughts were so disjointed and his anger so fierce that he couldn't make the connections to join the dots in his mind to work out the puzzle. He was in trouble, he knew that much. If only he could get past his burning desire to annihilate his captor, he might be able to do something about the situation.

"I'm doing this for your sake, as much as for mine."

Matt's voice floated up from where he knelt and Sam watched as he lifted a large rock into the car and placed it on the floor by the accelerator.

"I saw the way your brother treated you."

It was worded like an explanation, though Sam found nothing useful in it.

"You're unwell, yet instead of looking after you he tied you to your bed like an animal." Matt's eyes met his. "No wonder you're sick of him. We have a lot in common, you and me. Our older brothers are complete jerks. That's why I've decided to end this, today. It'll all be over soon, for both of us. You'll see."

Sam groaned and struggled against his bonds. He nearly choked himself on his gag. A tear rolled down his cheek and traced a line down his throat, evaporating before it had even reached the material of his shirt. God, he was on fire. It was eating him alive. He needed to get out of here. He had _no_ freakin' idea what Matt was on about. The guy was completely _insane_. He wanted to get a hand free to smash Matt's face against the steering wheel until his features were unrecognizable. _I'll kill you_, his mind hissed. _I'll hurt you. Then I'll kill you. You'll know pain then._ But it was no use. He wasn't going anywhere.

Matt straightened and reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He clamped it between his lips and lit it, sucking in a shaky breath. Smoke coiled about him and blended with the fog. Sam couldn't stop trembling as he watched the smoke dissolve, carried into the rain like it had never existed. A cold breeze whipped through the vehicle and snatched at Sam's hair, stinging his burning cheeks and taunting him with its freedom.

Matt's expression grew hard, and Sam recognized the numbness pure determination can bring. It outlined every angle upon Matt's face and created a mask of shadows, filling even the slightest depressions in his skin with darkness. Matt was frightened, but he wore his fear well. He looked like a man with a plan, though what that plan was, Sam still couldn't be sure.

Sam's anger welled and boiled within him like his organs had become molten lava. His heart pounded and chipped away at his ribs, and his muscles flexed against the perspiration glinting upon his bare arms. Despite the fuel his rage created, there was exhaustion within him and it was growing by the second. Alarm bells were ringing amidst the clatter of his already frenzied mind, and distantly he knew that if he didn't pull himself together soon, there was a good chance he could die.

He jerked as a spasm of pain travelled from his wounded shoulder through his neck and across the back of his head. _You'll regret this_, he thought bitterly, shooting daggers in Matt's direction. Something warm trickled over his lip and he tasted blood against his teeth. _You'll _regret_ this_.

Matt just sucked harder on his cigarette, the end glowing sickeningly. He exhaled and turned to face the lake, the edge of which was about twenty feet away. "James!" He called, his voice echoing hollowly across the water. "Come out, you little prick! I've got a present for you..."

* * *

Bobby double checked the address Dean had given him as he pushed open his door and stepped out of his truck. His boots crunched across wet gravel as he quickly made his way towards the boys' motel room, glancing around uncertainly and feeling uneasy at the fact that the Impala was nowhere in sight. He'd been driving for hours, possibly breaking a new land speed record in the process, and his eyes were red and tired. He approached the door and rapped a fist against its flaky surface, ignoring the splinters of paint that showered down upon his boots. "Dean!" he called. His voice was startlingly loud in the quiet of the morning. He waited patiently, but the door didn't open. He knocked again, his feeling of unease growing as he called louder.

The door remained closed.

Trying not to jump to conclusions, he moved along to the window and pressed his face against the glass. The curtains were drawn and he couldn't make out anything but distorted reflections of himself and the car park behind him. His hand found his cell and he fished it out of his pocket, deciding to dial Dean's number. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the reflection of someone approaching him from behind and he spun around, startled to see Giles standing there. It had been years since he'd seen his old friend and it took him a moment to register who it was.

"Damn near gave me a heart attack," he said finally, jerking a nod at the older man.

Giles' expression was unreadable, his foggy eyes fixed upon Bobby's as he leaned against his staff.

"I was expecting to find Sam and Dean, but it's good to see you all the same." Bobby's voice was tense, and his gaze settled upon the dried blood in the lines across Giles' face. He frowned.

"I'm glad to see you too," Giles said. His voice was strangely vacant. "We need to go. The boy took Sam, and Dean's gone after them."

Bobby couldn't decide what was more unsettling; what Giles was saying, or the way in which he was saying it. "What are you talking about? What boy?" He held onto his phone, not yet ready to put it back in his pocket.

Giles shook his head, as if confused by the questions. "There's no time to explain. The boy's taken Sam to the lake. We need to go." He stepped towards the truck.

Bobby hesitated. Dean hadn't mentioned anything about a boy or a lake.

"They were working a case," Giles continued, as if he could read Bobby's mind. "I tried to talk them out of it, tried to tell them it was dangerous. They wouldn't listen."

"Well what the hell does this boy want with Sam?" Bobby gripped his phone a second longer before swapping it for his keys. Was this boy a demon? He headed for the driver's side door and yanked it open, leaning over and unlocking the passenger door for Giles.

For an old man who could barely see, Giles climbed into the cabin with relatively little difficulty. "He wants to kill him."

Bobby felt a chill travel through his gut. The truck rumbled to life. "You sure they went to the lake?"

Giles nodded, his eyes fixed out the windshield. "I worked out what the boy was planning and went to confront him. He attacked me and took Sam. I came to as Dean's car screamed out of the car park and headed in that direction. I think there was a girl with him."

Bobby's grip was tight against the wheel as he stepped on the gas and brought them back out onto the road. "What girl?"

"I couldn't see her properly," Giles admitted. "But I think she had fair hair."

A girl with fair hair… Bobby's stomach did a little flip. _No. Not possible_. His knuckles were white and his head throbbed harder. He clenched his jaw. "How long ago was this, and how far is the lake from here?"

Giles threw him a glance, his eyes like steel. "Just before you arrived," he replied. "And the lake's only about five minutes down this road."

Bobby once again flattened the truck's accelerator to the floor. It was becoming a habit. They'd be there in less than five minutes. "God damn it, I told them to be _careful_," he hissed.

* * *

Matt took one last drag on his cigarette before tossing it to the damp earth. He didn't bother grinding the butt into the ground; the rain would put it out eventually. He blinked through the fog, feeling tiny droplets of drizzle settling against his lashes. There was no sign of his brother. Even as a ghost, James still ran on his own time. He wouldn't show until he was ready.

Matt shifted, irritably. He didn't have all day. Sooner or later, someone would find the old man he'd beaten in the bar's car park. Sam's brother would return to the room to discover that someone had stolen his sibling, and possibly call the cops. The old man would talk, if he wasn't dead already. _Should have finished him_, Matt realized with a hint of panic. _Should have made sure he wasn't breathing_. Never mind. It was too late for that now. He shook his head, jolting his thoughts back into place. He had to focus if he was going to complete the task at hand.

Turning on his heel, he checked his captive. Sam was breathing heavily, his chin resting on his chest and his eyes squeezed closed. As if he could feel Matt's eyes upon him, the young hunter opened his eyes and glared in return. Matt could see blood staining the teeth that clamped down upon the gag, and more trickling from Sam's nose. He knew that Sam was sick, but he didn't know why. As far as he was concerned, it didn't really matter. Sam would be dead soon anyway.

He held Sam's gaze a moment before returning his eyes to the lake. He'd never been a killer. James had made him one. _This is what he's driven me to_, he thought angrily, shoving his hands into his pockets and jiggling nervously. It was just one more thing he had to thank his brother for. _I was his fucking toy, and he moulded me_. Drawing a sharp breath he steeled himself and called out, "Why don't you show yourself! Come see the monster I've become! Come see what I've done for you! I've taken a page from your book, big brother. This is what you've taught me."

A cold breeze whipped across the water and snatched at his shirt collar. There was a rumble of an engine approaching and he turned slowly towards the road. He'd heard that engine before. Sam and his brother drove a car that sounded just the same. _Sam's brother's coming_. Panic spiked within him and he dove towards the ignition of the vehicle he'd stolen and began to fiddle with the wires. In the passenger seat beside him, Sam glared at him murderously through bloodshot eyes. James hadn't turned up, but there was no more time to wait. _It's now or never_, he thought frantically as he desperately attempted to coax the engine to life and swallow whatever fear there was remaining within him. All he had to do was get the car started. Then he'd put the brick on the accelerator and jump back, remaining at a safe distance from the lake. He wasn't setting foot near it. Not now. Not ever again. "Sorry Sam," he said, "but it's time to go swimming."

There was the sound of tyres crunching gravel as a car pulled off the road behind him. A man shouted, demanding he step away from the vehicle and put his hands above his head. Sam's brother obviously thought he was tough shit, acting like a cop. Matt swore as the ignition failed to start. Gritting his teeth and perspiring slightly, he grabbed his gun and levelled it at Sam. Then he stepped out of the vehicle, making sure his gun was still aimed at Sam's head. He turned to face Dean, who had thrown his door open and come around the front of the Impala, his own gun in his hand. There was a girl beside him, quite slim and pretty, her face set in a hard expression and her eyes cold. She had a gun, too. Matt was outnumbered. But he wasn't scared.

"Don't come any closer," he called threateningly. "I'll blow Sam's brains out."

He could see Dean's mind working, trying to process the situation. But the older brother didn't lower his weapon, and neither did the girl.

Matt narrowed his eyes. He needed them to know he was being serious. No one ever took him seriously. "I'm not kidding," he told them, his voice booming. "I _will_ kill him."

But Dean shook his head, his expression unwavering. "Don't be an idiot. There's no reason anyone needs to die right now."

But there was. Dean didn't understand. Matt tightened his grip on his gun. "_You_ don't get it," he said angrily. "I'm not just doing this for me. I'm doing it for Sam. I know what you are, and I know how you treat him. He told me. He's sick of you, just like I'm sick of my brother. I'm fixing things. I'm fixing them for both of us. And if you try to stop me, more people will die. Because James wont be happy. He _wont_ go away. He'll never go away."

The girl shot Dean a look, but Dean didn't meet her eyes. He kept his eyes fixed on Matt.

Matt tried not to feel uneasy by the look Dean was giving him.

"James is your brother?" Dean asked eventually.

Matt didn't reply. He didn't need to. Dean had worded it more like a statement than a question. He bit his lip, ashamed by how much he was trembling.

"Your brother's responsible for the deaths that have happened by this lake?" Again it was hardly a question.

Matt ran the tip of his finger along the trigger of his gun. He was so close to pulling it.

The smallest flicker of sympathy rippled through the anger in Dean's features. "Your brother's dead, isn't he."

Matt sucked in a breath. He'd never used the word 'dead' to describe James. Dead things didn't have such a powerful impact on things that were living. James was somewhere in between. "You know _nothing_," he spat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Actually," Dean countered, "I know more than you think."

_God, he's so sure, so arrogant. Just look at the way he's standing. He wants to win this. He _thinks_ he'll win this. _Matt's thoughts were a whirlpool. _He's trying to catch you out, wind you up. Don't let him play you. Don't let him get into your head. He doesn't understand._

Dean stepped closer.

Matt tensed. "Stop there."

Dean's steps slowed and he held up a hand.

Matt still had his gun aimed at Sam's head.

"You know," Dean said. "I could shoot you. I could end this quite easily." He pinned Matt with a withering look. "There are two of us, and one of you. Surely you've realized the odds are against you."

Matt swallowed roughly. He wasn't intimidated.

"But there's no _need_ to do that. Just like there's no need for you to kill my brother." Dean lowered his gun slightly. "Whatever's going on, whatever you think you need to do, I can guarantee there's a better way." His eyes had lost some of their coldness and he was appealing for Matt to trust him. "Now why don't you put the gun down, and we can talk about this like reasonable human beings."

_No, no, no_. Matt shook his head. He wasn't buying it. "There's no other way. You don't understand."

Dean hadn't broken their eye contact. "Yes, I do understand." His voice was growing tense again, his patience tested.

James had never been good with patience either, Matt remembered.

"Sam and I deal with this sort of thing all the time. We can help you."

But Matt continued to stand his ground. He shook his head harder. "No," he said aloud. "No. No. No." He'd tried everything. Nothing had worked. Nobody could help him. He had to end this, today. He had to get Sam into the lake. James had to go. "This is the only way."

His plan was backfiring, and Matt knew it. Yet he still held on. There was no way he could get the car started and send Sam into the water without being shot first.

Dean knew this, and raised his weapon again. "Seriously buddy, I don't want to do this."

He girl stepped closer as well, looking like she was ready to pounce.

Matt opened his mouth to continue to fight, but something strange happened. He was knocked from his feet and thrown backwards into the car. His gun discharged, but the bullet tore through the roof instead of hitting Sam. There was a gust of wind so strong it kicked up loose bits of grass, dirt and small rocks, whisking them around the vehicle as the engine roared to life. Matt clawed at the seat he'd been thrown into, trying to right himself. His door slammed closed and in the side mirror he could see Dean and the girl running at them, guns cracking at the car's tyres. Dean yelled something, but Matt couldn't make out what it was. His eyes fixed on the image of a boy in the rear view mirror. James was seated in the back.

The ghost smiled, his expression turning Matt's insides to ice. "I knew you'd come," it said.

Matt grabbed at the door handle and rattled it, but it was locked. Sam struggled against his bonds in the passenger seat, trying to call out through his gag, possibly to his brother.

Dean appeared beside Sam's door. His eyes locked onto the ghost, and bullets shattered the back windows in a violent wave of sound as one older brother fought the other; the living against the dead. But a force hit the accelerator, pushing it to the floor, and the wheels spun in the mud as the car lurched forward, leaving Dean and Ruby staggering behind.

"No-" Matt's voice was hoarse. "No- It's not meant to be this way-" Bile rose in his throat. "You can't take me- I wont let you have me-"

But ghosts know no reason. They don't even know sense.

The next thing Matt knew, he and Sam were hurtling towards the lake at impossible speed, and there was nothing left but the same cold water that had killed a major part of him all those years ago. Life had gone in a circle. Now he was being thrown back into the lake so that the icy water could finish the job. He'd been such a fool. He'd honestly believed he could escape this fate.

* * *

_tbc_


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks so much for the great reviews guys :) Just one more chappy to go after this one, and then I can catch up on all the reading I've been meaning to do, yay! Have a great weekend!_

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

When the car hit the water, Dean's world stopped. It hit the lake with such force that a wave of water showered the shoreline and at least ten feet back over the dead grass, hammering the ground like thunder. His boots thudded and slipped through the mud as he propelled himself after it, vaguely aware that Ruby was right behind him, doing the same. She was yelling at him, or perhaps he was yelling at her; he was so caught up in what was happening he barely paid attention to anything else. He didn't even try to stop her as she followed his lead in stripping off her jacket and boots and rushing into the icy water. The car had picked up enough speed to launch itself a fair distance into the lake, and it sank fast in a frightening applause of bubbles, choppy waves licking and slapping its roof as it went under.

"Sam!" Dean called, choking on his words as he kicked and splashed to where it had sunk. He gulped in a lung-full of air and ducked under the fizzing water, pulling himself down and desperately trying to adjust his eyes to the poor visibility under the lake's surface. Bubbles rushed about him, and his outstretched hands hit metal. He latched on to what he guessed was the car's roof and pulled himself further down. It was still sinking, and he could feel himself being pulled down by its weight.

The lake was incredibly deep; they weren't even close to its centre. Through the gloom he could make out the passenger window, and someone's head pressed against the glass. He realized it was Sam, but couldn't make out how much water was already in the cabin and whether Sam was conscious or not. Frantically he sought the door handle, knowing it wouldn't work but finding it and tugging as hard as he could anyway, trying to will it open. When it didn't budge he pounded a fist against the glass. But the water stole the force from his blows, and his lungs were screaming for air. Trying not to lose himself to panic he released his hold and kicked towards the surface, breaking it with a gasp. He'd barely finished sucking in a breath before he dove under again.

The second time he went down he saw Ruby on the opposite side of the car. She was pulling herself in through the driver's window, which he guessed she'd either managed to open or break. A wave of fear rushed through him at the sight of a demon so close to his brother. Despite the fact that he'd decided to accept her help in this, he wasn't about to trust her with Sam. He found himself kicking across the car's roof to the driver's window. It had been shattered and he pulled himself through it as carefully as he could, ignoring the small stings of broken glass against his skin and the fact that his lungs were straining for air again. The entire cabin was full of water and Sam was pale and unmoving, tied to his seat. His hair floated about him like a halo and his mouth was slightly open. Ruby was practically on top of him, using a piece of glass wrapped in her shirt to cut the ropes. Her eyes flicked to Dean's and she must have seen the emotion there because she pinned him with a look that screamed _trust me_, before throwing herself back to her task. Dean desperately wanted to help, but his vision was dimming from lack of oxygen and he needed to go up for air again. He'd be no help to Sam if he drowned himself, he realized angrily. Feeling frustrated and useless, he kicked towards the surface, sparing a thought to wonder briefly what had happened to the guy who'd done this to Sam.

Ruby didn't seem to require air the way most normal people did. When Dean reached her again she was cutting the ropes at Sam's feet, and her face was red with what he guessed was exertion rather than lack of oxygen. Pulling himself into the vehicle he reached his brother and seized Sam around the shoulders. Sam's eyes remained closed and his head moved lifelessly, a single bubble escaping his slightly blue lips. Dean quickly pinched Sam's nose and breathed into his mouth, cursing at how long it was taking them to get him out. Sam continued to remain still, and Ruby finally cut the last of the ropes. She signalled Dean and he breathed once more for his sibling before taking Sam under the arms and pulling him as carefully as he could through the broken window. Sam's jeans snagged for a moment, but Ruby tugged them free. Struggling with his brother's weight as well as with his own need for air Dean kicked towards the surface which seemed miles away, the morning's dull light shivering like a beacon, guiding him.

It seemed impossibly far, and for a moment he panicked that he wouldn't make it. But Ruby grabbed the back of his shirt and propelled him a little faster, and together they hauled Sam towards the light. Choking and spluttering, they broke the surface, and Dean desperately tried to keep his brother's head above water while Ruby helped to guide them as best she could. Dean found her actions frustrating, and growled that he could manage alone, but she didn't listen and continued pulling the two of them towards the shore. Dean pretended that he could have done it by himself, but deep down he knew that he would have been screwed without her help. The realization infuriated him, but he didn't have time to spend dwelling upon it. He wasn't even sure if the limp body he was dragging from the water was still alive.

"God, Sammy," he grunted, slipping through the mud and lowering his brother as gently as he could onto his back.

Ruby dropped to her knees beside him, breathless and pushing her stringy wet hair from her eyes.

Dean's ear found Sam's chest, but there was no heartbeat to be heard. No breath warmed his hand as he placed it against Sam's nose. "No," he said. "Come on, Sam, don't do this." He bent over and began breathing for his brother again, trying to concentrate on bringing Sam back rather than falling apart because Sam seemed to be more dead than alive. "Come on, damn it. _Breathe_."

Thirty seconds went by, then a minute. Sam continued to remain unresponsive. Pushed to the edge by sheer desperation Dean whirled upon Ruby and unleashed a small amount of the devastation that was spreading throughout him like the blast from an atomic bomb. "For fuck's sake, can't you _do_ something?" He didn't care what the price might be; he just wanted her to fix his brother. He'd give anything, even though he hardly had anything left to give. "_Please_," he begged, unashamed at how broken his voice sounded. "I can't watch him die like this."

Ruby's face was pale and set like stone. She opened her mouth to say something, but the distinct sound of approaching footsteps had her on her feet with her weapon drawn and she moved her eyes from Dean to fix upon two men hurrying towards them.

Dean followed her gaze, barely registering what was going on. His eyes stung and he could hardly see but he recognized Bobby as the older hunter jogged towards them, with Giles trailing behind. He had one hand resting upon Sam's chest and the lack of movement beneath his palm was absolutely tearing him apart. Bobby was too late. They were all too God damned _late_. Sam wasn't moving. Sam was… dead. A sob broke his lips and he pinched Sam's nose and breathed for his little brother once more, refusing to accept that it was futile. "Please, Sammy," he whispered. "Please wake up. You've got to wake up. You can't go to sleep here, I wont let you."

But Sam remained still.

Bobby slowed and came to an abrupt stop a few feet from where Dean leaned over his brother, his expression shell-shocked. His eyes flicked from Sam, to Dean, and then to Ruby who still had her weapon drawn.

Dean lifted his eyes and regarded his old friend, pausing between breaths with one hand still pinching Sam's nose, finally registering Ruby's stance and mentally stumbling as his brain tried to catch up. He couldn't be concerned with her, not with Sam like this. His brother needed him. He had to make sure that Sam was alright. "What are you doing?" He heard himself asking Ruby, barely able to inject any emotion into the words as they tumbled numbly from his trembling lips.

Bobby narrowed his eyes, his own weapon already in his hands. He looked like he was ready to use it to impale Ruby instead of just shoot her, there was that much rage in his expression. "_You_," he stated, spitting the words like they were poison. "You get away from them." He stepped forward threateningly, casting a look at Dean that said something along the lines of, _It's okay, son, I've got this now_. Though Dean had no idea how on earth Bobby could possibly make the situation right.

Ruby ignored the older hunter's words, continuing to hold her gun steady. Dean followed her aim and realized with a measure of surprise that she wasn't actually pointing it at Bobby at all; she was aiming for Giles.

Bobby must have realized as well, because he stepped in front of the older man.

Ruby shook her head, her eyes fixed upon Giles with a bitter expression gracing her features. "Bobby," she said soberly. "It would be wise to step away from him."

"Now why the hell would I do that?" Bobby replied stubbornly.

Dean's gaze flicked from Ruby to Bobby, and then to Giles who was stepping out from behind his human shield. There was something different about Giles, but in Dean's current state he couldn't quite work out what it was. He narrowed his eyes, his mind working furiously. Giles' gaze skipped along the ground until it was resting upon Sam's unmoving form, and then rose to meet Dean's. The old man's eyes were completely black. Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

"Because," Ruby hissed. "He's not who you think he is."

Dean's hand released Sam's nose and fell protectively upon the younger man's shoulder. His eyes met Bobby's and he managed to get his mouth open to deliver a warning, but Giles acted before he could say anything.

With a sweep of his hand, the old man sent Bobby flying towards a tree and pinned him there like a rag doll. Ruby's gun went off, but the bullets disappeared inside the old man's flesh like stones cast into water. Another flick of the wrist, and Ruby followed Bobby into the undergrowth, her body slamming down upon the ground with impossible force. Dean swallowed roughly, but refused to leave his brother's side. He pinched Sam's nose, and bent over to continue breathing.

Giles now had a gun in his hand and was aiming it at Dean. His face contorted into a sickening, amused expression. "Now isn't this a sight," he sneered. "God, it's heartbreaking. You know, I'd love to stick around and watch some more, but I have places to go, people to destroy. I'm on a bit of a time-frame, see, I was meant to have taken care of Sammy a few days ago." He stepped closer. "I would have, too, if little Miss Irritating Bitch of the Year over there hadn't come along and _stabbed_ me in the neck with that bad old knife of hers." He scowled in Ruby's direction, before returning his eyes to bore into Dean's.

Dean lifted his gaze.

"She was aiming to kill me," the demon laughed mockingly. "It's such a shame her magic blade didn't have the desired effect on me. I see it's done some interesting things to your brother, though. She's got great aim, that girl. I believe she nicked his shoulder right before she plunged the blade into my neck. Well done," he raised his voice. "You're a real star, Ruby. A real star…"

Dean couldn't give a damn how strong this demon thought it was. He broke his gaze away and proceeded to block everything out, pressing his lips against Sam's, breathing, refusing to stop.

"It's touching," the demon said, in a voice that was cold as ice. "I'd love to stand here all day and watch you try to revive your brother, but I'm afraid I can't do that." He shifted his aim so that the gun was no longer aimed at Dean's head. He lined it up with Dean's shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Dean heard the crack of the weapon going off and felt the bullet pass through his shoulder in a rush of agony. The force knocked him backwards, sprawling him upon the ground. He groaned and cursed, trying to pull himself into a sitting position so that he could get back to his brother. He wasn't going to give up on Sam. He wasn't going to let Sam die. He gasped and choked, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"It's more fun if I make you watch me end your brother."

Giles' face appeared above Dean's.

Dean felt himself wrenched off the ground and dragged roughly through the mud, dumped a few feet from where Sam lay and pinned there by an invisible force. His face twisted so that he had a good view of Sam. Warm blood soaked through his still damp shirt and ran down his arm, dripping off his elbow.

Giles stared at him a moment before approaching Sam.

"No," Dean rasped. "Sam…"

But he couldn't get enough air into his lungs to give his voice any strength. He could barely breathe. He wanted to kick and scream and destroy the demon, but movement was impossible. He heard Bobby call out, but couldn't hear what the older hunter said. Ruby remained out of sight, possibly dead for all Dean knew, and bile rose like fire in his throat. He'd failed his brother, yet again. The realization twisted like a knife in his gut. He'd let Sam down, yet again. He was going to have to watch Sam die, yet again.

_No_, he thought frantically. _I can't watch him die. Once was bad enough_. He gathered all the strength he could and fought against the demon's hold, desperate to break free.

But the demon just laughed at him.

"_No-_" Dean gasped, his eyes shooting to his brother. _No, no, no, no…_

The demon bent down and grabbed a fist-full of Sam's shirt, hauling him unceremoniously off the ground.

Dean sucked in a jagged breath, finally finding his voice. It tore forth from his lungs. "_Sam_!"

* * *

Sam was drifting. He was almost entirely dissolved in shadows and his soul had separated from his body. He was trapped, locked like a rat in a cage, his being rocking like a pendulum between life and death. He couldn't remember how he'd got here. All his memories had scattered and fallen from his mind. He was in a state of inertia, devoid of all substances that had once made him whole. He was fading, and his life force burned low like a candle with a wick that was being smothered by its own wax.

Absently, he was aware that his physical body was pretty much dead. The bridge back to reality had been washed away and he was stranded. His mind was so fragmented that he couldn't muster the strength to be concerned about it. Shadows swirled and hissed about him, whispering in countless voices far too quiet for him to understand. A part of him wanted to tell them to be silent, but he didn't have the words. He didn't have the mouth or a voice either. He was breaking into pieces, and those pieces were fracturing again. He was like sand, and the grains were sifting away. He was becoming one with the darkness that was surrounding him. _Perhaps it's not a bad thing_, he realized distantly, feeling his soul sliding further. _Perhaps this is how it's meant to be_.

He would have been happy to believe that, too, if it hadn't been for the voice that suddenly rang out against the hisses and whispers surrounding him.

_Sam_!

He recognized the voice, but couldn't quite place it. His disjointed thoughts snagged for a moment, before continuing their crumbling.

_Sam_!

There it was again, like an echo. It bounced around his unconscious realm, ricocheting off shadows and seeking out the parts of the darkness that belonged to him. It knew him, and somehow he was aware that he knew it as well. It sought out the scattered pieces of his being and attached itself to them, drawing them together. Slowly, his body began to re-assemble itself, swirling and spinning as it took shape once more.

_Sam_!

His memories slammed back into his mind. He'd been in a car. The car had ploughed into a lake. He'd been with Matt. Matt had been torn through the driver's side window by ghostly hands as the car had sunk. Dean had been there. Dean had tried to get into the car before it had hit the water. Sam had lost consciousness not long after the car had gone under.

Dean was calling him now.

_Sam_!

The voice echoing around him was desperate and hurt.

Dean was in trouble.

Sam sensed his brother, beyond the walls of his shadowy prison. He sensed that Dean was in pain and it was enough to send his thoughts into a frenzied mess. Instincts took over, and the darkness about him churned. As if sucked by a vacuum it began to rush into him, fuelling the fire of his rage as it went. Raw energy sparked and flared throughout his being, blinding in its intensity. His thoughts came together with such clarity that it nearly blew his mind.

He felt flames within him. He felt more anger than he'd felt in all the times he'd been conscious recently. He wanted to hurt something, and to put his inner fire to good use. He wanted to wake up and take care of whatever the hell was threatening his brother.

_Sam_!

The heat within him was so extreme that it melted him like sand into glass.

_Wake up_, he told himself. _You wake up right now_.

Suddenly a hand gripped him and everything jerked upwards. The wall between where he was and reality shattered so violently that he was thrown back into his body, his eyes snapping open.

A demon wearing Giles' face held him by the shirt, hauling him off the ground. Their eyes locked, and Sam felt his rage swell to bursting point.

The demon hissed, startled, its eyes growing wide.

Sam didn't give it the opportunity to react. His hand shot upwards and caught it around the throat, his fingers scorching its flesh as heat radiated from his body. He drew it closer until he could feel its rancid breath upon his cheek. Though he couldn't see his brother, he knew that Dean was on the ground a few feet from him, bleeding and exhausted. Sam knew the demon's intentions; it had thought he was dead, and it had planned to make sure that he stayed that way. Then it had planned on killing his brother.

He tightened his grip around its throat. Warm blood began to trickle over his fingers as it hissed and spat curses.

Giles was already dead. The demon had killed him when it had possessed him. Sam wasn't looking at an old man; he was looking at a monster. With incredible force, he twisted and hurled it away from Dean, slamming it hard against the nearest tree.

"Don't fuck with my family," he growled.

And then he launched himself after it.

* * *

When Sam had suddenly come back to life, Dean's heart had jerked in his chest. Now, as Sam threw the demon against a tree and began to lay into it, the force pinning Dean to the ground was released and he pulled himself upright, gasping and blinking his eyes in a desperate attempt to focus. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He couldn't believe Sam was alive and on his feet. Groaning, he tried to stand, but the pain from his bullet wound drove him back down. He swayed upon his knees, clutching his shoulder. He tried to call to his brother but his voice was lost.

Sam's fists were flying. The younger man's movements were so fast they were blurred. At first the demon took the punches, its head snapping back and blood spurting from its nose and mouth. It appeared that Sam had the upper hand, at least until the demon mustered a new wave of strength and began to fight back. It hurled its fists at Sam's face, grabbing and scratching at Sam's eyes. It drew Ruby's knife and Dean saw the blade glint in the day's dull light, flashing a warning. Sam had seen it too, and knocked it from the demon's grasp. Dean watched as his brother threw his right palm against the demon's chest and whisked the creature around in a wide arc, throwing it through the air and pinning it as it hit the ground. Sam was holding it down, but not by physical force. He stood several feet away with his hand still extended, sweat beading upon his brow. The demon's face cracked into a sickly amused expression.

"Oh, very impressive," it choked.

Dean's eyes flicked between his brother and the creature. There were sparks dancing around Sam. It almost looked like he was on fire.

"They told me you were special," the demon continued. "But up until now I was thinking they'd made a mistake." It convulsed into a fit of coughing, blood running down its chin.

Sam didn't appear to be listening. His fists were balled and his shoulders hunched in determination. Chest heaving, he advanced upon the creature.

Dean was completely terrified by the look painted across his brother's face. He tried once more to call out, but his voice dissolved in the roar from the storm Sam suddenly whipped up about him. Rocks and grass launched into the air, whirling in a dizzying spin. The sparks that had surrounded him became balls of fire, swelling in intensity as they collided and merged into larger, molten orbs. Dean blinked, feeling his eyebrows singe. The heat was so fierce that he fell back upon the ground.

Bobby had also been released from the demon's hold and appeared in an instant by Dean's side. His arm looped around Dean's waist and he dragged the older brother backwards. Ruby was there as well, covered in mud with blood running down the side of her face. Dean barely paid either of them any mind. He fought against Bobby's strong grip and tried to break away in order to get to Sam, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder.

"Let me go-!" He twisted and batted at Bobby's arms.

But Bobby wouldn't release him.

Sam was now immersed in fire, and the demon was kicking up a storm of its own. Each hurled a wall of energy at the other, and where they met, the ground buckled and opened up. Smoke poured from the wounded earth, coiling into the whirlwinds they'd created and blocking their faces from view. Dean's mind couldn't process what he was seeing, it was so intense and so far from anything Sam had ever been. What he was witnessing couldn't possibly be his brother. It was frightening, and violent. Sam had never been either of those things. And yet here he was, looking like he was about to pulverize something. Dean felt time freeze as the smoke shifted enough for him to see Sam's black eyes meet his. He felt a touch on his mind, like fingers trying to pry their way in. Mentally, he recoiled from it, but the fingers found an opening and tore into his thoughts.

_I'm sorry_.

Dean's mouth opened slightly as he recognized Sam's voice in his head.

_Dean…_

Dean struggled to sit up, pushing against Bobby. Sam was communicating with him. He latched onto the presence in his mind and blinked through the chaos.

"Sam!" he called.

But Bobby still refused to release him.

_I can't let it hurt you_.

Dean's struggles became more frantic. "Sam-!"

There was a tearing sound, and the ground began to shake. The presence in Dean's mind receded as Sam's black eyes turned once more to face the demon. Bobby's grip tightened and Dean felt bile rise in his throat. _No. _He hated the look upon Sam's face. He'd seen that look before; Sam had worn it right before he'd stepped into the room to kill Madison. It was pain-filled, yet determined. It meant that Sam was about to do something. From beside him, he heard Ruby curse viciously before staggering to her feet. Bobby yelled something, but the noise from the roaring wind drowned it out.

There was a surge of energy, blinding and red hot. Dean forgot how to breathe as he saw his brother forcing himself through the barrier between his power and the demon's, the air ripping and screeching like metal on metal. Ruby froze in her tracks, having made it only a few steps in their direction. Dean saw her eyes go wide before she cried out and fell to the ground, flinging an arm across her face. Bobby pulled Dean backwards again, and pushed them down into the mud. Dean felt the cold ground scream beneath his cheek as Sam broke through the barrier, hurling himself at the demon and colliding with it in a rush of fire.

There was an explosion, followed by a sickening roar. Dean squeezed his eyes closed out of reflex and turned his face away from the agonizing heat.

_No!_

His ears were ringing as the heat reached a climax, before it subsided and the debris began to settle.

_Sam!_

Wildly he pushed against Bobby and managed to haul himself upright, thankful that the older hunter didn't attempt to fight back. He pulled himself to his feet, stumbling and swaying as he tripped along the uneven ground.

His steps slowed, and his vision swam as he processed the scene before him.

Giles' body laid limp in the wet grass, black and still smoking, while Sam lay unmoving beside him, blood streaking from his eyes, nose and mouth.

Bobby staggered over, face contorted in an expression somewhere between horror and pain.

Dean didn't even look at him. He closed the distance between himself and his brother and threw himself upon the ground, unable to speak. Gingerly, he touched a hand to Sam's throat, and his trembling fingers proceeded to feel for a pulse that he seriously doubted was there.

Ruby approached him, her face grey.

He didn't look up.

Her voice was very small as she said, "He's gone, isn't he."

* * *

Bobby had seen some pretty frightening things during his lifetime, but this definitely took the cake. The air had been sucked from his lungs and the moisture from his lips, and he felt as though he'd just run a mile through a blazing inferno. He stood, hunched over, clutching his sides as he battled to calm his frantic heart. His eyes were stinging, but it wasn't only from the smoke that had recently surrounded them. He was at a loss for words as he watched Dean gently wipe the blood from his brother's face with his thumb, using his other hand to feel for any sign that Sam was alive. He heard Ruby's words, but had no energy left to listen to her. His hazy vision swam slightly as it stayed fixed on Dean, waiting for a reply.

Dean wasn't facing either of them. He held his fingers against Sam's throat, his shoulders visibly shaking as he knelt upon the scorched earth. A moment passed, before Dean slowly bowed his head.

Bobby couldn't work out whether the action was one of defeat or relief. Hesitantly, he stepped towards the older of the two brothers and outstretched a hand to rest upon Dean's uninjured shoulder. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The shudders travelling through Dean's body grew stronger and he twisted around to face both Bobby and Ruby, an unreadable expression upon his face.

"He's alive," he said hollowly. "But only just."

Bobby released the breath he'd been holding, startled because he'd been certain Sam was dead. He squeezed Dean's shoulder, nodding jerkily. That was good. That was very, very good. He opened his mouth to reassure Dean that they'd get Sam out of here and sort this whole mess out, but Dean twisted his shoulder away and pushed to his feet, his eyes stormy.

"_You_," he said, advancing on Ruby.

Ruby's eyes grew dark and met his.

Bobby stepped towards Dean but Dean batted him away and seized Ruby by the shoulders, barrelling her backwards.

"This is _your _fault. I'll kill you-"

Ruby brought her hands up and began to fight back, arguing viciously.

Bobby's gaze flicked briefly to Sam before he threw himself into the scuffle, grabbing Dean and tearing him away. "_No_," he hissed into Dean's ear as they stumbled backwards. "Not now. Sam needs you." He clamped Dean's shoulders and shook him firmly. Their eyes met and he saw that there was more hurt than anger burning within John's eldest son. Lifting his hands, he cupped Dean's face. "No," he said again.

Ruby glared at them both, breathing heavily.

_I've screwed this up enough_, Bobby realized, following Dean as he dropped beside Sam again. The boy was in bad shape. It was a freakin' miracle he'd survived whatever the hell had just happened. Bobby passed a hand over Sam's forehead before nodding to Dean. "We'll figure this out," he promised.

Dean's expression was stony and exhausted, but he nodded in return.

Bobby couldn't blame Dean if he decided not to believe him. He felt like he'd broken both the boys' trust in the past day or two, not being here for them and then leading a demon right to them because he hadn't picked up on the fact that Giles had been possessed. Stiffly he pushed himself to his feet and whirled to face Ruby. He'd feel sad about his old friend later, he decided, refusing to focus upon Giles' corpse and the fact that really, he'd been responsible for that too. He swallowed his emotions and forced himself to feel numb.

"Get your brother back to the motel, Dean," he said, stepping towards Ruby. He caught her roughly by the shirt. "You're coming with me, sweetheart." He jerked her closer. To her credit she didn't make a full effort to pull away. "We need to talk."

Her eyes were cold. "Do we?"

Bobby got a hand behind her and pushed her in the direction of his truck. Beside him, Dean was carefully lifting Sam from the ground.

_That boy is not going to die,_ Bobby thought fiercely. _Not today. Not like this_. He shot Ruby a look that spoke volumes.

She glared in return.

"You're going to fix Sam," he said once they were out of earshot. "You'll either fix him, or you'll die."

It wasn't a threat.

Anger flashed across Ruby's features. But, judging from the way she walked, she understood that he was being deadly serious.

* * *

From where Sam was, he barely felt anything. He'd been shattered into a thousand pieces and there didn't seem to be much hope of putting him back together again. He drifted, aimlessly. He was surrounded by a great nothingness.

Well, almost nothingness.

He could feel his brother close by. And, despite everything, Sam realized that Dean's familiar, reassuring presence was enough.

It had always been, and would always be, enough.

* * *

_tbc_


	10. Chapter 10

_As much as I've had fun writing this, I'm really glad to be posting this last chapter! (If FF lets me post it that is- I think this site hates me) Thanks so much for your comments and for reading! Muchly appreciated :) Take care!_

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

Bobby pulled his truck into the motel's car park closely followed by the Impala. When they stopped he swung open his door and jumped from the cabin, jogging through the drizzle to help Dean with Sam. Ruby took her time, sliding from the truck and leaning against it a moment before closing her door. Bobby speared her with a look and she rolled her eyes, face stormy. They hadn't spoken a word during their brief drive, and she'd sat stiff as a post in the passenger seat while he'd gripped the wheel, his palms clammy.

"Inside," he ordered now, carefully supporting Sam while Dean rushed to unlock the door and clear Sam's bed.

Ruby didn't reply, just watched silently as Dean returned and took his brother under the arms, holding him to his chest like he would a child.

Bobby grabbed Sam's feet and lifted them off the ground, helping to relieve some of the weight for Dean. He could see Dean wincing, and noted the beads of sweat that perched upon his brow. "How's the shoulder?" he asked gently as they moved through the door.

Dean barely acknowledged the question, kicking a pile of clothing out of the way as they approached Sam's bed. "Put him on his back."

Bobby stretched Sam's long legs right to the edge of the mattress, while Dean carefully arranged a pillow behind his lolling head. The older brother placed a hand upon Sam's forehead and attempted to unstick some of the bloody, singed hair. He leaned over and whispered something, but his words were destined for Sam's ears and Sam's ears only, and Bobby missed them entirely. Sam's shirt was blackened and torn in patches, with blood staining every area of exposed skin and mud caked across his trousers and boots. Bobby ran a hand over his tired eyes and bit back the grimace that was threatening to crack across his features, laying a hand upon Sam's forearm before moving it to settle briefly upon Dean's back.

Dean was still trembling, and blood stained his shirt both at the front and back where the bullet had passed through his shoulder. Bobby was worried about the amount of blood Dean had lost, but knew that trying to talk sense into him was futile right at this point. _Sam first,_ Dean would no doubt insist. Ever since they were kids, Dean had always taken care of his brother before himself. _It was always going to be his undoing_, Bobby realized morosely, turning his eyes to the doorway and realizing disapprovingly that Ruby hadn't entered the room. He pushed away from Dean, heading towards the open door. Spray from the rain was blowing across the threshold.

He stepped outside, half pulling the door behind him.

Ruby leaned against a wall, staring out to the car park.

Bobby wasn't in the mood to have his patience tested. "When I said 'inside', it wasn't an option. Now get in there and do whatever the hell it is you do, and make Sam well again."

Her eyes met his. They were black as night.

"I'm not going to repeat myself." He stepped closer.

She didn't move.

"I swear to God, if you're even considering arguing with me on this-"

Her expression became colder, and she shifted ever so slightly.

Bobby clenched his fists. "You _fix_ that boy."

She dropped her gaze, her head shaking slowly.

He seized her by the front of her shirt and rattled her. "I'm not _asking_ you, I'm _telling_ you. Now _fix_ Sa-"

"I can't."

Her words dropped like stones to the ground.

Bobby continued to hold her by the shirt, eyes tracing her features for any sign that she was lying.

"That's bullshit," he said, despite the fact that her expression held nothing but painful honesty. He clenched his jaw and felt his muscles spasm with frustration. "Of course you can fix him. You _will_." He slammed her against the wall.

This time she fought back, her arms coming up swiftly to knock him from her. She drew herself upright and regained her composure, regarding him threateningly. Her chest heaved and her eyes smouldered, her gaze holding something more than anger; a hint of sadness, perhaps.

Bobby glared at her, trying to read her expression. _Demons lie_. _They're all the same. Don't be fooled. She's lying_.

But she wasn't.

"I know you don't believe me," she said after a moment, her voice raw. "But through all of this, I've told you nothing but the truth." She shook her head, agitated. "If you weren't so fucking bent on killing me like every other evil thing you've hunted, maybe you'd see that I'm trying to help you." Her eyes bored into his.

Bobby turned away. "That's bullshit," he said again. Then he spun back to face her. "You're a _demon_. What do you expect me to do?"

This time she was the one who turned away, her expression cold. "Sam has darkness in him, you saw that today, yet you still believe he's different."

"What, you're saying I should think of you the way I think of Sam?" Bobby was fuming. "Don't you _dare_ even suggest that I make that comparison. You have _nothing_ on that boy."

"I wasn't suggesting that!" The words broke from her lips and strained as they hung in the air. She shifted irritably, brushing at the mud and blood still clinging to her face. "I don't want to see Sam die. Hell, I don't want to see Dean die either. If they die then we've got no hope of winning this."

Bobby watched her carefully. "Why on earth would you want to help us?" He didn't understand, and surely she had to see that her helping them was a ridiculous concept.

"Because," she said after a heartbeat. "If I'm not _for_ you, then I'm against you." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "And if I'm against you, then I'm with _them_." She shook her head. "I don't want to be with them. I _hate_ them. I have my reasons."

Bobby's fists were still clenched, but he resisted the urge to pound her.

She folded her arms, hugging herself. "I can't fix Sam," she said again. "I would if I could, but I can't." She pinned him with a sorry look before turning to stare through the gap in the open door to the motel room.

Bobby followed her gaze. _What the hell is that supposed to mean_? He shifted so that he could see further into the room. Dean was bent over his brother, tending Sam's wounds with agonizing care and completely ignoring the debate that was taking place not twenty feet from him.

Ruby shoved her hands in her pockets and stared out to the car park again. "Sam should be dead."

Bobby shot his gaze to settle upon her back as she turned away from him.

"What happened back there," she continued. "It should have killed him."

_But it didn't_. Bobby shifted uncomfortably.

She nodded, as if hearing his thoughts, and turned back to face him. "Sam used the darkness within him to fight for his brother. He overcame the odds and went all vigilante. It was _suicide_, and yet he did it. He did it, and yet… he's not dead."

Bobby raised a brow.

"He's holding onto something." She tilted her head towards the room. "He's holding onto _someone_." She straightened her shoulders. "And he's a Winchester, which means he's too stubborn to let go." A small laugh broke her lips, but her expression remained grave. "I'm not the one who can pull him out of wherever he is. You've got to believe me. Only Sam can fix himself now, and the person he's holding onto is his brother." She shook her head. "It's _always_ been his brother."

Bobby felt himself fidgeting. The sensible thing to do would be to reject what she was saying and find a way to end her. Hell, he could end her right now. All he had to do was remember that she was the one who'd brought this situation about in the first place. _Because it's easier to blame her than it is to blame yourself_, his conscience chided. He stepped towards the door, blocking the path into the room. "You realize you've just dug your own grave," he told her, his tone unforgiving.

She didn't meet his eyes.

"You're telling me you can't fix Sam, and then there's the issue of that knife of yours and the fact that it doesn't seem to work on all demons." He paused. "You say that you want to help us, but you have nothing to offer."

She drew her knife and turned it in her hands. Bobby watched as the blade caught the light.

"Actually," she said. "I can offer you something."

Her eyes finally met his, and Bobby raised a brow.

"I know about the colt." She watched him carefully, but his expression didn't change. "I can fix it."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Doubt all you like but as it stands, the odds are against you. You'd be wise to take me up on the offer."

"I'd be _wise_ not to listen to you at all." He stepped forward.

She didn't budge. "I can also find out who holds Dean's contract."

Bobby felt his blood freeze.

"I have my suspicions," she admitted. "All it would take is a couple of questions, a bit of time. I could have the answer for you."

"We don't exactly _have_ a bit of time."

"I'd best be on my way then."

He glared at her. There was every chance it was a lie. In fact, she was _probably_ lying. But… there was also a chance she was telling the truth, too.

"If Sam dies," he jabbed a finger at her. "It'll be you that I come for."

She barely flinched under the threat.

"Unless Dean gets to you first," he corrected. "In which case, I'll not envy you. You'd better pray he doesn't get to you first."

"I'm really scared," she replied, trying to act tough.

"You should be damned well scared."

"God, is there anything else?"

Bobby felt his knuckles tingle. "Yes," he said, and swung his fist hard at her jaw.

She stumbled back, gaping. A small amount of blood trickled from a crack in her lip and she dabbed at it lightly.

"Don't you dare come near these boys again." Bobby's words were like poison. "If you need to talk, you come to me. And even then, don't bother turning up unless you can give me the name of the demon responsible for Dean's deal." He stepped back towards the door. "If I decide I want some help fixing the colt, I'll let you know. Otherwise you stay the hell out of our way."

He grasped the handle and pushed the door open. Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder and looked at Dean. "Do we have an understanding?" He turned his glare back to Ruby.

She was no longer there.

Drizzle hissed and swirled in the wind, collecting in droplets along the gutter and tearing free to spatter over the concrete where she'd stood. He did a quick visual sweep of the area, but she was nowhere to be found.

_Son of a bitch_…

He turned quickly and stepped into the room, jerking the door closed behind him. It slammed loudly, and Dean raised his eyes in a questioning half-glare.

Bobby ran a hand through his hair, before proceeding to grab scattered articles of clothing off the floor and stuff them into bags. "We can't stay here," he declared, ignoring the way Dean was looking between him and the door. "I'll take a look at your shoulder, and then we'll get Sam into the car." They needed to find another motel.

Dean shook his head fiercely. "I'm not moving Sam. He's not fit to travel."

Bobby was about to argue that they didn't have a choice, but Sam's arm twitched, and the boy groaned and slowly opened his eyes.

Dean was beside him in an instant, and Bobby didn't hesitate to rush to the bedside.

Sam was blinking rapidly, his breath coming in jagged gasps.

"Sam-!" Concern mixed with relief as Dean leaned over his brother.

"Don't be such a jerk, Dean…" the younger slurred, wincing and squeezing his eyes closed again. "Let him look at your shoulder." He opened his eyes and fixed his gaze upon Bobby. "Hey Bobby," he wheezed.

Bobby felt his words clamp in his throat, and he barely managed a nod.

Sam turned back to Dean. "What…? Don't give me that look." He winced again. "Don't want you to bleed to death on my behalf..."

Dean bowed his head, letting out a choked, little laugh.

Bobby reached down and brushed a stray piece of muddy hair from Sam's brow, feeling an immeasurable amount of relief at seeing Sam's eyes back to their normal colour.

"It's good to see you, boy," he said gently.

Sam just sucked in a shaky breath, and nodded back.

"Damned good to see you," Dean corrected, snagging his brother's hand and squeezing in firmly, subtly banishing stray tears from his eyes.

* * *

As the road rolled beneath them, Dean risked a glance at his brother who was sprawled across the back seat of the Impala with one of the motel's pillows scrunched beneath his head. Once Sam had been filled in on the situation, he'd sided with Bobby and had agreed that they should move on from the town, and Dean hadn't had the heart to argue since Sam had seemed keen on the idea. He'd reluctantly allowed Bobby to take care of his shoulder, before they'd wrapped Sam in blankets and piled him into the car. Now they'd been on the road just under an hour, with Bobby following closely behind, and Dean found himself checking the rear view mirror every so often for the simple reassurance that Sam was still there.

Far too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours, and when Dean thought about it, his stomach threatened to cave in. He wasn't sorry to be leaving the town and the lake, and the nightmare of their most recent job. He didn't know or care what had happened to Matt, and in terms of where Ruby had gone to, he couldn't really give a shit. Sam was alive and that was all that mattered. The fact that Sam had been practically dead, as far as he was concerned, was no longer up for discussion. The fact that Sam had become so '_un-_Sam' was also a topic that he no longer wished to dwell upon.

"It's okay, dude." Sam's shaky voice floated up and over the front seat. "I'm not about to go anywhere… You don't need to keep checking on me."

Dean was startled that Sam was even awake. He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Oh, I was just checking that Bobby's still following us."

There was a heavy silence. The lie was obvious.

After a while Sam said, "Is he?"

"Eh?"

Sam shifted slightly, wincing under his breath. "Is he still following us?"

Dean cleared his throat again, trying to resist the urge to turn in his seat and check on Sam more closely. They'd given Sam painkillers, but after what he'd been through, Dean seriously doubted they'd be much help. Bobby had tried to shove some down his throat too, but he'd refused. He wasn't going to take that risk again; not with Sam, not with his _car_.

"Yeah, he's still following us," Dean finally replied.

Sam breathed out heavily. "That's good to hear."

There was another heavy silence, this one stretching for a good minute or two. Dean absently tapped the wheel as he drove, watching the trees blur by in a parade of dark green and brown. The fog had lifted slightly, but light rain continued to streak the windshield. He was shivering, even though it wasn't overly cold.

"Are you okay?" Sam's voice was very small, very strained.

Dean almost laughed. Was he okay? _Was he okay? _No he was _not_ freakin' okay. He was rattled, and numb, and he'd come too God damned close to re-living his worst fucking nightmare. "I'm…" he started, but couldn't quite finish the sentence.

They rounded a corner and a small lake was visible through the trees. Even though they were miles away from the lake Sam had almost drowned in, the sight still clamped upon Dean's heart and squeezed until he felt like it would burst.

He shifted in his seat, averting his eyes and wiping sweat from his brow. "I should be asking you that, Sammy," he said. "God…I mean, seriously. You've been through hell."

The word 'hell' wasn't one they used lightly. Dean realized his bad choice of vocabulary as soon as it had passed his lips, and he cleared his throat again, as if trying to erase it.

But Sam was either too out of it, or really didn't notice the mistake. "You're not getting sick are you?"

Dean opened his mouth, startled again that Sam seemed more concerned about him than he was for himself. "I… I'm fine, Sammy, never been better." He hoped the sarcasm wasn't too obvious.

Sam seemed reasonably content with the answer, and whispered something along the lines of, "Good."

Dean returned his concentration to driving, though his mind was screaming all sorts of horrible things that he really didn't want to think about; like the fact that Sam had been just _slightly_ terrifying, with black eyes and blisters from holy water and crazy, scary powers that had totally annihilated another demon and almost wiped him out as well.

Dean's knuckles were white, his palms clammy. That hadn't been his brother. That hadn't been his brother.

That had been his brother.

Again his stomach did its caving in trick, almost folding him in half with the urge to be sick.

God, he'd had to tie Sam to a bed. He hadn't _known_ what to do. And now Sam was back to normal; battered and bloody like something that had been chewed up by hell and vomited out again, but normal. _Whatever the fuck normal is_, Dean found himself thinking.

Shaking and slightly dizzy, he passed a hand over his burning eyes and rubbed them angrily. The road continued to roll beneath them, infuriating in its monotony.

Sam shifted again. "You stole this pillow for me."

Dean drew in an unsteady breath. "Yeah, I figured we wouldn't be going back there anytime soon."

Sam made a noise that was halfway between a groan and a chuckle.

Dean shot a look into the rear view mirror again, out of reflex.

A hand wobbled into view. "Not going anywhere, remember," Sam said jerkily.

Dean tore his eyes away. "Yeah," he replied quickly. "I know. I'm sorry man, I'm just…" He hated all the words that came to mind. "A little shaken up," he admitted finally, chewing his lip after he said it.

Sam didn't reply.

There was a lot of emotion, rising rather rapidly, and Dean didn't want to deal with it. But once it had started, it was too hard to push back down, and before he knew it he was stumbling over sentences, unable to stop.

"I thought you were dead," he blurted. "I mean, I could have sworn you were dead. But then you weren't dead and you were fighting whatever the hell had possessed Giles, and you were in my head, telling me you were sorry and that you needed to protect me, and I saw you surrounded by fire and there was a big explosion, and… Jesus Sam I thought I'd lost you..." He shook his head, gulping in half breaths. "I thought I'd _lost_ you," he said again, stopping before he launched into how angry he'd been that Sam had sacrificed himself for someone who was destined to die in less than a year anyway. "It nearly killed me, damn it." His eyes were swimming in tears but he refused to let them fall. "I'm not angry. I'm just… scared." The realization was excruciatingly painful. "I don't understand what happened today, and a part of me isn't sure that I want to." He blinked rapidly, gritting his teeth and setting his jaw. His heart pounded against his ribcage, threatening to burst from his chest.

There was half a mile of awkward silence, before Sam finally broke it.

"I thought I'd lost you too," the younger man said.

When Dean began to argue, Sam cut him off.

"I'm not talking about when the demon was trying to kill you," he continued, his voice raspy and straining from the effort of speaking. "I'm talking about afterwards."

Dean held up a hand, indicating the conversation could wait. He hadn't meant to distress his brother. He felt guilty for having vented so much.

But Sam brushed him off, saying he was fine. "This is important," he wheezed, and Dean swallowed roughly and bit his tongue.

Sam coughed breathlessly, chasing his voice. "I heard what you said to me, when you and Bobby carried me back into the motel room."

Dean furrowed his brow, and felt his cheeks flush slightly. He'd thought Sam had been unconscious.

"Up until that point, I thought I'd lost you too." Sam coughed again.

Dean opened his mouth, but found that he was lost for words.

"Do you remember what you said?" Sam's coughing subsided and was replaced by strained, jagged breathing.

Dean's eyes lifted to the rear view mirror and hovered there a moment, before he returned them to the road. Of course he remembered. He'd said, "_I'm gonna get you through this, Sammy._ _No matter what, you're still my brother._"He nodded slowly.

"It meant a lot," Sam said after a moment, his words hanging in the air long after he'd spoken them.

Dean felt a lump swell in his throat, but he quickly swallowed it back down.

"Thankyou." Sam's voice was beyond exhausted.

Dean nodded more jerkily. "Sure," he said, his own voice hoarse.

And the road swam slightly, as he steered them around another bend. He looked for a lake through the trees, but this time there was none.

* * *

Bobby was a mess. He'd managed to hold himself together reasonably well, but now that he was alone there was nothing stopping him from coming apart. He took his cap off and tossed it to the seat beside him, running a hand through his hair and inhaling deeply. The Impala was a few car lengths ahead of him, flying along the country roads under the glare of the mid-afternoon sun as it tried to shine through the clouds. He was rattled and bone-weary, with the smell of singed hair still burning his nostrils. His eyes were red and sore, and his hands trembled slightly as he gripped the wheel. The day's events were beginning to settle in his mind and he found himself feeling incredibly sad. He was relieved beyond belief that Sam seemed okay, but he couldn't escape the fact that Giles had died as a result of being caught up in everything. The events of the past twenty-four hours had been absolutely horrific.

Once again, thanks to demons, his world had been shaken about and flipped upside-down.

He couldn't help but feel that lately, all they ever did was move from one battle to the next. It was like they were digging themselves deeper into the ground. Dean was on death row, and Sam, well, God only knew what was going on with him. It was like they were on a downwards spiral, and there was no way to get any footing. It was almost as if they were fighting something they just weren't meant to win, but they fought anyway because they didn't know what else to do. It was growing more and more difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel, or even find any hope at all. But Bobby felt an overwhelming responsibility towards Sam and Dean, and if there was any reason for him to keep fighting, it was to look out for them. Even if he couldn't save them, he couldn't give up trying.

Reaching over, he scooped his cap from where it rested upon the seat and returned it to his head. He gripped the wheel tighter and attempted to chase some of the trembling from his hands. He had no idea where Dean was headed, but he figured they'd stop when they got tired of driving. They'd find another motel, bundle Sam inside, and try to sort this whole mess out.

It was frightening, but they'd sort it out.

Just like they always did.

* * *

Sam was far from alright, but he was alive and perhaps that was all that mattered. He lay uncomfortably across the back seat of the Impala, feeling every bump in the road and trying not to cry out as his battered body protested at the movement. He felt as though he'd been torn apart, and haphazardly thrown back together again. He felt like Frankenstein's monster.

He felt like an aching pile of fractured bones.

He shifted sightly, pulling his arm from under him and bringing his hand to where he could see it. He bit down on his lip and squeezed his eyes closed, hating the way he couldn't focus without feeling dizzy. The cut in his shoulder still burned and fire continued to smoulder within him, but it wasn't as intense as it had been. He furrowed his brow, feeling sweat begin to break his skin as he concentrated.

Small sparks began to dance between his fingers, hypnotizing and beautiful, and he re-opened his eyes to stare at them.

There was power within him. He could feel it churning like clouds in a storm. It was the same power that had surrounded him in the dark place he'd been transported to every time he'd lost consciousness; the same dark place Dean's words had pulled him from when he'd been convinced there was no way home.

It was power that could kill demons. It was power that he could use to his advantage. He thought about Dean and his deal, and found himself staring more intently at the sparks lighting his fingers. _It only takes one spark to start a fire_, he thought absently, narrowing his eyes and balling his hand into a fist.

He needed to find the demon that held Dean's contract. If he could find that one demon, he could set everything right.

He looked up at the back of Dean's seat. It was ironic, really. Matt had been willing to do anything to get rid of his brother.

He was willing to do anything to save his.

* * *

_The end._

_For now :)_


End file.
